


Game Over, Try Again

by A_Perverted_Romance_Addict



Series: Second Chances [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Comedy, DADA Professor Voldemort, Don't copy to another site, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Father Voldemort, Female Harry Potter, Fluff and Humor, Headmaster Voldemort, Immortal Harry Potter, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Master of Death Harry Potter, Master of Life Voldemort, May/December Relationship, Mother Harry Potter, Possessive Voldemort (Harry Potter), Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Teen Pregnancy, Time Travel Fix-It, Virgin Harry, Virgin Voldemort, With a Pinch of Angst and Drama, baby Horcrux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-02-09 17:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Perverted_Romance_Addict/pseuds/A_Perverted_Romance_Addict
Summary: Even after Ana Potter learns the truth about herself, her connection to Voldemort and Dumbledore’s manipulations, she still goes to the Forbidden Forest to die, if only to end the war and bring Voldemort a step closer to mortality.She doesn’t know what to expect after death, but she certainly didn’t expect to find herself in a blinding white representation of King’s Cross and she definitely didn’t expect to find herself caring for Voldemort’s soul shard inside her or the fact that she would encounter Death and find out she was now his ‘Mistress’.After a nice chat with Death, she strikes a deal with him: He would send her nine months into the past with the soul shard to change the course of the war and prevent as many premature deaths as possible.However, the only way to bring it with her is by giving it its own body and carrying it for the following nine months inside her womb.





	1. Starting over

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, a brand new story in a brand new series featuring Tomarry/Harrymort. 😄 It has female Harry paired with male Voldemort. He starts out as his snake-like self, but as the story progresses he goes back to looking like Tom Riddle only with a few alterations and the fact that he'll give the impression of a middle-aged man, looking around late thirties or so.  
> I am aware of the similarities between the names Ana and Aya, but I swear it's intentional. I was looking through different female names at BabyNames.com and well, I felt that Ana, which means 'gracious, merciful', suited this female Harry the best. 
> 
> Despite this story being the closest to the canon, it is still an AU, especially of the final book, so I have taken some liberties changing certain parts of the canon. For example, the brief romances with Cho or Ginny didn't happen (and no, it's not just because Ana is a female, even if I had kept Harry as a male, I would still make it so he never kissed or dated neither Cho nor Ginny), the horcrux hunt is different in this one, the skirmish at the Malfoy Manor is different, Remus didn't have an affair with Tonks that would leave her pregnant and the timing of certain events is also different from the canon. 
> 
> Now, I'm tempted to put Underage on this work, just to be on the safe side with tagging properly, but I'm not sure what constitutes Underage when 17 is the age wizards become legal adults and is also the age at which Ana has sex with her husband Voldemort. So, if the majority of you will say I should put Underage as a warning tag, then I will do it.
> 
> As for the length of the story and the frequency of updates, well, 20 chapters is just a rough estimate, I'll see how the number of chapters will change, but it shouldn't change drastically. Because this is only the first new story out of five that I am currently working on, I will update it bi-weekly (meaning every other week, so every 14 days). I know it's a long wait between the chapters, but I hope it will be worth it. 🙂
> 
> As always feel free to leave kudos and comments. Subscriptions and bookmarks are also much appreciated. 😄

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay, Ana,” she encouraged herself, “you can do this.”

She looked down at her arms, where Voldemort’s soul shard was sleeping peacefully. She smiled gently at the baby and caressed its exposed cheek with her knuckles, before placing a soft kiss on its head. “I’ll see you in nine months,” she told him.

She gazed at Death. “I’ll be going now,” she informed him. He nodded. “I’ll be counting on your assistance if things get too difficult with Voldemort. You know … if he decides to curse me first and ask questions later.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, “I’ll always be there for you and the baby, protecting you from spells and potions. However, you should pay attention regardless. Remember that, though immortal, you are still human. You can still get hurt. You can still feel pain. You can still feel emotions.”

She sighed. “I know, Death. I know. That’s why I’m asking for extra help. I don’t want anything to happen to the baby.” She cuddled it closer to her chest. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“As long as you pay attention to your health, you have nothing to worry about,” Death assured her.

She nodded and smiled a little. She looked towards the Realm of the Living.

“Here it goes.”

With a final sigh, she steeled herself and walked towards the portal, away from the train station, baby in arms.

…

Muffled chirping of birds rose her from her sleep. When she slowly opened her eyes, she needed a few moments to collect herself and her thoughts. She recalled dying, speaking with Death, and the soul shard inside her.

Alarmed, she looked at her arms and found them empty. There was no baby in them. Before she could panic, she remembered the soul shard was still with her, but the only way she could bring him back with her to the plane of the living was to give it its own existence through pregnancy.

She caressed her flat abdomen, hoping the child was indeed there. Because as long as the baby was there, she was happy.

Somewhat relieved, she let out a deep sigh, with a hand on her chest, and felt a metal chain around her neck. She looked down and saw the locket.

Right … she went back for nine months from the day of her “death”. Which, if her math was correct, made it August 2nd 1997.

She looked around the tent and saw her friends sleeping. Ron had his torso exposed and his shoulder bandaged, while Hermione slept next to the bed in a chair.

Of course. They had infiltrated the Ministry the day before to get the locket from Umbridge and Ron was splinched during their escape. She had lost track of the time with all that has happened during the war.

She smiled at them. They have been dating since the second semester of their fourth year, after Ana gave Ron a nudge to confess his feelings for Hermione when he spent most of the Yule Ball jealous over her dancing with Viktor Krum. Hermione had been fancying him too, despite his eating and table manners.

They still argued, but far less than in their third year and their arguments never lasted long and they never became too heated.

Her best friends didn’t deserve to live through this hide and seek, cat and mouse, and wild goose chase thing she had with Voldemort for a second time. Not if she could have a say in it, even though they were blissfully unaware of what was to come …, and if everything went well, as far as she was concerned they would never have to live through it. Hermione would be able to go back to her parents to undo the memory charm she had placed on them and Ron and his family would never have to lose Fred in battle.

It was true that Ron and Ana had a brief falling out during November of their fourth year after that whole fiasco with the goblet, when he openly admitted to feeling envious of her fame and her money. Instead of being his own person, he felt overshadowed by her just as he felt overshadowed by the achievements of his elder brothers.

At that, she told him, she never wanted fame and the money her parents left her was mostly meant for her education and essential things, such as clothes, footwear, food and hygiene, not to spend it left and right on luxury items and lifestyle. And while to him it might seem like a fortune, she was aware that without a regular income, the money reserve in her vault would not last her forever.

When he accused her of cheating and going behind his back to enter the tournament and gain even more notoriety and fame, she in turn said that if he hadn’t come to know her as a person in three years’ time, to know she would never have done something like that, then he was not the friend she thought he was.

It wasn’t until she had to face a Hungarian Horntail for him to realise he’d been wrong and to apologise, while fiercely hugging her. After admitting to being a hot-headed idiot, he promised he would never doubt or abandon her again.

And he stayed true to his word … sometimes a little too true. When Malfoy continued with his ‘ _Potter stinks_ ’ badge campaign, he punched the blond git in the face. The punch then quickly escalated into a fight, until they were both bloody, Draco more so than Ron, and Professor Snape intervened, separating them.

When she returned with Cedric’s corpse from the cemetery and said Voldemort had returned, he believed her and when she had to face charges for using a Patronus in self-defence and was being slandered by both the press and her peers for telling the truth, he defended her from anyone who dared say anything against her. He was even ready to team up with Fred and George and poison Umbridge for the Blood Quill she dared to use on her. She was glad she and Hermione stopped him, because Umbridge’s death just wasn’t worth going to Azkaban for.

Hermione never truly left her side. Even when odds were against Ana, Hermione stuck with her through thick and thin at all times, and Ana was grateful to have her as a friend.

…

Careful not to wake them up, Ana left the tent to get some fresh air and wash her face. As she stepped outside, cool, early morning summer air greeted her and made her shiver. She walked to the nearby stream, where she washed her face with cold water to wake herself up and think.

For a moment, she doubted her sanity. Did she imagine the outcome of this mess in her head during a dream or was what she remembered true? It sure felt so vivid and real that she found it hard to dismiss it as mere imagination or a prophetic dream. Then again, how many people could say they died, met with Death, who informed them they were its ‘Master’ and assistant, and came back to life nine months before their death day?

Not many, she reckoned … if any.

She closed her eyes. She had to do something. She had to do something to stop this madness before it got out of hand and people started dying left and right before their assigned time. She had to stop Voldemort before he took over Hogwarts and had his Death Eaters stationed inside. However, she had to stop him without risking her well-being and the life of the child she was carrying.

To think she would be a mother without even kissing or having sex with someone. She didn’t even fancy anyone. How could she, when almost every year since she started attending Hogwarts one thing or another constantly threatened her life and the only thing that she could think and care about was surviving.

For a moment, she thought she had a crush on Cedric because he was nice, he played the same position as her and he treated her with respect when almost everyone shunned her during the tournament. However, very soon she learned that’s just how he was as a person … nice and, when she learnt he had a girlfriend, any romantic feelings she might have harboured for him were gone in an instant.

She might not fancy anyone, but she always thought that if she ever dated or married someone, the other person would treat her with respect and kindness. Someone that would make her laugh. She wouldn’t mind the dirty talking and wild and rough sex from time to time. As long as her significant other didn’t treat her like rubbish or hurt her intentionally, she was fine with it. And once she married that person, she always envisioned herself having kids with them. Not that she had any idea how the love of her life would even look like, she never saw his face, but she always imagined someone tall and muscular with strong arms to make her feel safe, warm, wanted, desired, cherished, loved.

Now, she was going to have a child, whose father was none other than the same man who had apparently made it his life’s mission to hunt her down and kill her like an animal, and it didn’t matter how many corpses he had to go through to get to her.

The irony of life.

She sighed. She had to think of what to say to him, how to convince him to stop the terror and violence. She didn’t think she could stop him from declaring himself the leader of the wizarding Britain. He was so powerful and determined to rule she couldn’t help but admire his drive, but she could stop him from causing needless death and suffering.

The question was how. What could she offer him that would convince him to stop his onslaught and that wouldn’t require giving up her life? She wasn’t special or valuable despite being the ‘Mistress of Death’ and practically immortal, and though she had a few prized possessions, such as the deathly hallows, her father’s map, and a vault at Gringotts, she really didn’t have much to her person.

Another sigh escaped her. This was going to be a disaster. She could already feel failing miserably and though Death insisted that she wasn’t responsible for who lived and who died, she couldn’t stop being who she was overnight. It was her flaw, caring too much about everyone and everything to the point of letting it dictate her decisions and life. She was aware of it and she was willing to work on it. At least to the point of not letting what others thought about her get to her and just be happy with the baby.

Speaking of the child … even if she and Voldemort weren’t intimate, the baby inside her was still his. If one did a paternity test, Voldemort would appear as the father. Therefore, should she tell him about it?

She wasn’t really sure how he would react to the news, but Voldemort never struck her as someone who would want to have children or, if he had them, he didn’t seem the type to want to be involved in his child’s life.

If she told him about the baby and he expressed the desire not to be involved, she would respect that and would simply move to some place away from people, preferably a small cottage surrounded by nature and with a small garden, where she would have her child and raise him in peace.

Yes, that sounded like something that might happen if she ended up convincing Voldemort to stop the violence and let her live, yet he didn’t want to have anything to do with her and the baby. However, if she became a hermit, how would she take care of the favour for Lady Magic?

Suddenly, the locket’s chain wound itself around her throat and started asphyxiating her, breaking her out of her thoughts. Her hands went immediately to her throat and she tried to pry it away from it.

“I saw what you did to me and my other horcruxes,” a cold male voice spoke in her ear.

She gasped for air, but managed to catch a glimpse of the ghostly apparition of a young Voldemort.

“I might not be able to kill you because of your status, but if you _attempt_ or even so much as _think_ about destroying me and the remaining horcruxes; I will _hurt_ and _torment_ you,” he snarled, pressing menacingly close to her, sending shivers of uncomfortable kind down her spine. “You have been warned.”

The pressure around her neck disappeared and she started coughing and gasping.

“I’m sorry I destroyed you,” she whispered, clutching her throat and looking at the apparition. “I thought I was doing the right thing at the moment.”

He was frowning, displeased and unsatisfied with that explanation, despite it being true. “The right thing for whom?” he demanded, snapping at her. She flinched a bit at the venom in his expression and voice. “Maybe for Dumbledore, you, and the rest of the wizarding world, because it was definitely not for me or other parts of me.”

He huffed, sneering. “You let yourself be manipulated to the end,” he snarled contemptuously, “and even when you learnt the truth, you still went through with Dumbledore’s plan. You walked to your death _willingly_.”  

She lowered her head, ashamed.

“I know,” she sighed dejectedly, closing her eyes. “Am I proud of it? No. No, I’m not.”

She looked at the horcrux inside the locket. “But at the time, it seemed like the only way to stop the madness,” she whispered. “At that moment, I wanted the torture and suffering to end and dying to bring him closer to death seemed like the easiest and most effective way to do it.”

The horcrux scrutinised her. “You’re a fool, Ana,” he stated with a sneer. “You … and Dumbledore.”

“What do you mean?” she was confused.

“Destroying the container with the soul shard doesn’t destroy the soul piece. It merely liberates it from its anchor, after injuring it, of course. The only way you could destroy it would have to be through an exorcism ritual and as far as I was able to see in your memories, you didn’t perform a single one,” he informed her with sadistic glee.

Her eyes widened in horror as she realised what he was saying.

“Meaning that,” he continued, relishing her shocked and horrified expression, “had you not been the Mistress of Death by the time you walked to your own death in the Forbidden Forest, you would have died for nothing, because Voldemort would still have soul shards scattered around, roaming aimlessly around the plane of the living. It would have only been a repeat of what happened on Samhain, 1981.”

Ana’s breathing became erratic and laboured as dread settled and spread through her stomach and chest. She shut her eyes, fighting away the tears that threatened to collect and spill over. There was a buzzing in her ears as light-headedness threatened to overtake her.

She felt a cool sensation surround her, and when she opened her tear-filled eyes, she found herself in the locket’s embrace.

“Sh, there, there,” he cooed at her as he passed his hand through her hair, “I didn’t tell you this to upset you.” Judging by his tone that was exactly what he wanted to achieve.

“How can I not be upset,” she choked out, “when you just told me that all my actions were futile.” A strangled sob escaped her. “That I didn’t achieve a thing. That I wasted nine months of my life thinking I was making you mortal again only to learn that it was never as simple as I thought. That I would have died for nothing.” Her voice cracked and more tears rolled down her cheeks.

He tried to wipe them away.

“But you didn’t die for nothing,” he whispered in her ear. “You learned you are the Mistress of Death and thus immortal until you decide to die and you have chosen to go back to this moment with the shard inside your womb.” He placed one of his ghostly hands on her lower abdomen. “You willingly decided you wanted to keep my soul shard with you, to give it a body of its own, to give birth to my child.”

She let out a sigh of disbelief. “And what good will that do to stop this war?”

“Don’t talk like that, dearest,” he cooed. “Your choice in limbo will do you plenty of good. For one, if you swear never to cause me, myself, and other parts of me any intentional harm, I offer you my protection from my original self as well as any other outside threats until your dying breath. And two, I will vouch for you in front of my original self when you decide to speak with him and if he gets … _difficult_ to reason with.”

“I never wanted to fight,” she whispered with desperation, looking at the horcrux. “I never wanted things to come to this. I just want to live in peace. That’s all I ever wanted peace, love, and family with a couple of friends.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “But if I stop and back out now, I would feel like I’m letting everyone down … my friends especially. However, I also don’t want to hurt anyone … not even you or rather _him_.”

“You can have what you want without fighting anyone,” he assured her, caressing her cheek. “Just do as I say and everything should turn out just fine.”

She wasn’t entirely sure if she could trust Voldemort’s soul shard, but he and Death were her only hope right now, so she just let out a resigned sigh and nodded. For that, she received a grin in return.

“Good girl,” he praised her.

She sighed again and relaxed in the locket’s chilly embrace.


	2. Negotiations with Voldemort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana meets with Voldemort. They talk. Voldemort is not ready for the bombshells Ana drops on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing! 😍 Thank you for all the comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks on the first chapter, it means the world to see that you've liked the first chapter. 🤗 I can only hope you will like the direction of the story and the portrayals of the characters in the future as well. 😄 I will stick to my vision and hope for the best. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! 😇

As Ana observed the nature around her in the locket’s ghostly arms, she recalled with fondness the time she carved her own bow and arrows from the nearby trees. She even spotted the trunk she used as her target practice before hunting. She remembered all the scratches, cuts and splinters she acquired in the process. The tedious work of finding stray bird feathers for her arrows.

By the time their supermarket food supply had started to become scarce, she became good enough with her bow to hunt down rabbits, pigeons and even deer. She remembered her first animal kill with a melancholic smile.

She remembered plucking her first pigeon, skinning her first rabbit, her first deer. She even managed to catch a few fish with a makeshift spear she made by tying a knife and a fork to one end of a wooden stick. She remembered collecting mushrooms, plants, and forest fruit.

Her smile faded.

She also remembered her first human kill and the kill that followed shortly after the first one. She was distraught, disgusted, even if it was done in self-defence. She couldn’t believe she took a human life being fully aware of it.

She supposed her first human kill was Quirrell when she burned him to death with her touch, but she wasn’t fully aware of it at the time and no one seemed to make a fuss about it. However, during the months she spent in hiding with her friends, she wilfully and consciously hunted down the snatchers that came remotely close to their hiding spot.

Yes, the first time it happened, she couldn’t stomach the fact she killed someone. She had trouble sleeping at night with that scene repeating itself in her head over and over again. Sometimes, she even hallucinated her victims sitting at the table or standing in front of her, bleeding from their mortal wounds. Sometimes, when she was bathing, instead of water she saw blood. But when she found herself in a similar situation a second … and a third … and a fourth time, she killed again … and again … in cold blood. Because between living and dying, she chose to live … or at least she had the drive, before she found out the unfortunate truth about herself, and the lie and the farce, which was her life.

After the first round of snatchers, she spent almost every waking moment studying her surroundings, getting familiar with the layout of the land to master the landscape and have the upper hand should more snatchers wander close enough their hideout.

She wasn’t afraid to use mud to blend with nature and conceal her presence. She learnt to silence her steps, to move with speed and stealth. She learnt how to climb trees and hide in the canopies … In the end … hunting humans wasn’t that different from hunting animals once you got the hang of it.

However, her actions put a strain on the relationship with her friends.

The locket’s melodious voice interrupted her train of thought. “Ah, yes,” he said with morbid amusement, “we made quite the team back then.”

She stiffened. “What?” Her voice was a barely audible whisper.

The locket chuckled. “Don’t be so horrified, dearest. How do you think you managed to become such an accomplished cold-blooded killer in such a short amount of time if not for my help?”

“You … You made me-”

He interrupted her before she could finish her thought. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.” He shook his head. “Before you go accusing me of corrupting you, dearest, let me tell you that I only acted upon what was already there,” he gently informed her.

“As much as you don’t want to hear it, or admit it, there’s darkness inside of you, darkness that you keep hidden and locked away from yourself and the world. But I’ve seen it. I’ve caught a glimpse of it and thought it was magnificent.” His voice acquired a reverent tone. “So … I simply decided to set it free and let it loose,” he said gleefully, grinning in a predatory way while gently caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“If you became a cold-blooded killer, it’s because deep down inside, you already had the potential to be one. You simply needed the right kind of push to break free from those staunch morals of yours and I provided that final push, while also inhibiting your moral compass. If I hadn’t, you would have been captured, tortured and killed a long time ago, before you ever got the chance to acquire the cup and the diadem as well as all three deathly hallows.”

Her breathing became agitated again as another wave of dread and horror washed over her. More tears formed in her eyes.

“Aw, dearest, don’t be upset,” he cooed yet again, this time he sounded far more sincere. “It’s not good for the baby … or at least that’s what people always say.” He reverently caressed her lower abdomen with one hand while caressing her hair and back with the other.

“Besides … you did what you had to do to survive.” He pressed his ghostly lips to her temple. “It would have been you or them and there’s nothing wrong with choosing yourself over the others. There’s nothing wrong with acting on survival instinct.”

His words seemed to calm her a bit. He continued to caress her for a few moments, until there was no tension in her body.

“Honestly,” he whispered after a while, “I didn’t know what would happen with my influence on you, but I must say you surpassed my expectations by a landslide. You were swift, precise, quiet, and deadly. Whenever you entered your predator mode, you were a remarkable sight.”

It was meant as a compliment, but it only served to make her huff in irritation, roll her eyes and turn away from him.

He chuckled. “Okay, okay,” he said, amused. “I won’t say anything about your glorious human killing skills.”

She let out a defeated sigh. “I don’t want to become that monster again, Locket,” she whispered.

“Marvolo.”

She looked at him, confused.

“Call me Marvolo,” he elaborated. “The alias I fashioned for myself in school has a taboo right now … so, until you are ready to face him, you should use Marvolo to refer to me, because Locket is such an impersonal way to refer to somebody even if I’m only a soul shard without a body.”

She nodded with a shy smile.

He caressed her cheek. “As for your desire,” he continued, “you can avoid it of course, though, if you ask me, it’s a shame to repress your dark side. I’m sure my other self would enjoy seeing it.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. He quickly soothed her.

“I know, I know,” he said. “I know you don’t want your friends to see you come to that point, but now that you know just how vicious and cruel and dark you can get, instead of mindlessly indulging in it or zealously keeping it hidden, you should accept and cherish that part of yourself.”

She looked sceptical and unconvinced, so he continued, “That’s what I did. That’s what Voldemort did. We’ve seen our own darkness and decided to embrace it and revel in it. It was one of the most liberating experiences of our lives. It might have gone a bit out of control for us at some point,” she raised an eyebrow and sent a deadpan look his way, “but it is still who we are,” he concluded.

Her look softened and she smiled gently at him, before nodding and seeking more comfort in his chilly presence.

A few minutes of companionable silence later, Ana’s stomach grumbled.

“I should probably go back inside and prepare something to eat,” she said with heated cheeks as she stood up.

Marvolo chuckled. “You do that, dearest. I’ll be with you.”

…

When she returned to the tent, a very worried Ron and Hermione were waiting for her.

“Where were you?” Hermione interrogated her with a stern expression and her arms crossed.

“By the river,” answered Ana. “I went to freshen myself up a bit and you were both still asleep,” she explained. “I didn’t think I would be long.”

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and nodded.

“Next time leave a note to let us know,” she said. “What if something had happened to you and we wouldn’t even know where to look for you? You know we have to be careful. Now more than ever. It’s not safe out there.”

“I know,” her lips curled in a sad smile. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

Hermione returned her smile and went up to her to hug her. She returned the gesture. “I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing,” breathed Hermione, “but Ron is still recovering from yesterday and I don’t know if I could bear to see you get hurt too.”

Ana looked at Ron. “How are you feeling?” She motioned towards his bandaged shoulder.

“It doesn’t hurt that much anymore,” he said, grimacing, “but it’s very itchy.”

“That’s good,” said Hermione, returning to her boyfriend. “It means it’s healing.”

“I think I preferred it when it was injured,” he complained, sighing. “It hurt as hell, but at least I didn’t have this urge to scratch my skin off.”

Ana and Hermione sent a sympathetic look his way. Hermione caressed his hair and face, before pressing her lips to his. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it should be good enough in a few days, maybe a week.”

He pressed his forehead to hers with a sigh. “I hope so, ‘Mione. I don’t like feeling useless.”

Ana observed her friends for a few seconds more, before clearing her throat. “I’ll go make some breakfast,” she announced. “Any special requests?”

Ron’s eyes lit up at the mention of food. It just might be what he needed to keep his mind off his itchy shoulder. Food and Hermione’s kisses and cuddles.

“If you could make a really fancy omelette with scallions and sausages, though bacon works fine as well, maybe a bit of cheese too, and a bit of toast on the side, that would be great.”

She giggled. “I’ll see what I can do with our supermarket supply.”

She disappeared into the small kitchen and started going through the cupboards and fridge. She took out a knife, a fork, a spatula, a cutting board, a grater, a frying pan, a large bowl, a bit of oil, scallions, eggs, sausages, cheese, salt, and pepper. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any toast.

She placed the pan on the stove, poured a bit of oil in it, and turned the stove on low heat. While the oil was heating, she grated a cup of cheese, washed and cut the scallions, cracked, seasoned and beat the eggs.

She poured a third of the egg mixture into the pan, then sprinkled the top with a third of grated cheese and chopped scallions. When the eggs weren’t as runny anymore, she folded the omelette crêpe. While she waited for it to cook completely, she took out three plates.

After sliding the omelette onto the plate, Ana repeated the process two more times. In the meantime, Ron and Hermione made their way to the dining table, following the scent of food.

For the final touch, she cut the sausages in half, then, made two criss-cross inch-deep incisions, so that when the sausages fried in the pan, the incisions would spread outwards and make it look like tentacles of an octopus.

As she placed the dishes on the table together with a few slices of bread, Ron praised her cooking.

She playfully rolled her eyes. “You haven’t even tried it yet and you’re already singing praises,” she pointed out with a smile.

“Unless you’ve used sugar instead of salt or put too much pepper or salt in it, it should be fine,” said Ron.

As they ate, they were trying to come up with a plan. Well … Ron and Hermione were doing most of the talking, while Ana simply listened and agreed to what they were saying, trying to put as little input as possible, because at the end of the day, she had already made her decision.

She was determined to meet with Voldemort and _talk_ , something they should have done ages ago, and if she told her friends about her plan, she knew they would strongly disagree with her reasoning.

…

After they were done eating, Ana intended to wash the dishes and use the solitude to communicate with Marvolo, but Hermione stopped her and offered to do it instead.

While Hermione did the washing up, Ana and Ron decided to play a game of Wizards’ Chess to entertain themselves and pass the time. It also helped Ron keep his spirits up and not think about his itchy shoulder.

He, of course, won.

When the time for lunch was approaching, she consulted with her friends about what they would like to eat and received a very general reply: something simple and easy to make. In her mind, that translated to pasta and sauce.

They had some meat and quite a few different vegetables. In the end, she decided to go with spaghetti and mushroom-zucchini cream sauce and chicken. As she was preparing the ingredients, Marvolo manifested behind her and kept his arms around her, observing her work.

“If you want to talk, just think about what you want to say,” he told her, his voice gentle beside her ear.

‘ _When do you think I should contact Voldemort?_ ’

“As soon as possible, but probably not this very moment, especially not with your friends awake and on the other side of the curtain.”

She nodded.

‘ _What about tomorrow early morning?_ ’ she suggested. ‘ _I could volunteer to do night watch and I could sneak out and call for Voldemort_ _as they sleep._ ’

“That could work, yes,” said Marvolo pensively, “if he’ll be awake at five o’clock in the morning. It would be unwise to disrupt his sleep. He might not appreciate it and a grumpy Voldemort is never good news.”

‘ _More so than usual?_ ’ she wondered.

“Yes.”

‘ _Then let us hope he’s an early riser,_ ’ said Ana, ‘ _I don’t want to stall and risk my friends waking up before I’m gone._ ’

She spent the rest of the day thinking about how to approach Voldemort, but by the end of it, she still had no concrete idea of what to say. Marvolo offered a few ideas, but they were nothing more than general advice.

“Don’t be confrontational. Remain calm. Do not lie. Be honest with him. If he gets difficult, let me or Death take care of the situation.”

…

After her friends fell asleep, Ana still managed to get six hours of sleep, before Marvolo woke her at five o’clock in the morning.

She wrote them a letter, telling them not to look or worry about her and urging them to return to their families for she was going to make everything right. Leaving the letter in an easy-to-spot place, she glanced at her friends one final time, before leaving the tent and walking into the forest.

When she created a safe distance between herself and the tent, she stopped to take a few deep breaths, before gathering enough courage to call out to Voldemort by saying his name.

“ _Voldemort_ , _come to me … please_ ,” she said in parseltongue to avoid attracting other people instead of Voldemort.

At first, nothing happened. It made her think it didn’t work. So … she tried again. “ _Please, Voldemort, I need to speak with you._ ”

Again, there was a moment of deafening silence, until something in the air started to change.

The air around her grew denser and heavier and there was a sudden gust of wind, before there was a crack of apparition and the man who had been hunting her appeared before her in all his terrifying cloaked glory.

His lips curled in a chill-inducing grin as his eyes settled on her.

“Ana Potter,” he whispered, “the Girl-Who-Lived, what a surprise. Have you finally grown tired of running and hiding from me like a mouse?”

She let out a dejected sigh. “Yes,” she answered, looking him in the eye. “I’m tired of running and hiding. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Then I suppose you won’t have any objections to me killing you as we speak.”

She swallowed, hard, but forced herself to remain calm. “About that … I was wondering if you would be kind enough and spare me … please.”

An incredulous expression settled on Voldemort’s face.

“Spare you?” he repeated, not quite sure he heard her right. However, his shock was quickly replaced by anger. “Do you seriously believe you can convince me to spare your life?”

Now it was her turn to look unsure. “Uh … yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I do. I mean, at least I hope I can convince you. I _really_ don’t want to fight you.”

There was a beat of tense silence between them and Voldemort was looking at her as if she were an extra-terrestrial being. She supposed she felt out of place in many ways.

“And why should I spare you?” he snarled after finding his voice again. “Do you have any idea how much time and effort I’ve invested in hunting you? And now that I have you where I’ve always wanted, you ask to be spared.”

“I know there’s a prophecy hanging over our heads about a babe born as the seventh month dies who will vanquish you with the power you know not and either dying at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives and what not.”

She spoke with gentleness and watched disbelief take precedence over anger on Voldemort’s face, yet again. He must have realised she was summarising the entire prophecy. The same prophecy he spent an entire school year trying to get his hands on, only to have it smashed by her hand. It probably wasn’t wise to divulge the last part, especially not when Voldemort was still considering her death by his hand, but if she wanted her plan to work, honesty seemed like the best policy.

“However, I implore you to reconsider,” she continued. “Just because the prophecy is worded in an ominous way, it doesn’t mean it has to end in death for either of us. At least, I don’t want to kill you … not anymore.”

He stared at her, searching her face and eyes for a lie. She felt him try to prod her mind and see her thoughts, at which she simply said, “I would also appreciate it if you refrained from trying to invade my mind without permission.”

He immediately desisted, but narrowed his eyes.

“Then, please, by all means, help me understand what brought this on?” Sarcasm permeated his every word, but she could tell that beneath the sarcasm there was genuine confusion and wonder. “Why would Dumbledore’s Golden Girl want to make peace with me now, when she was so adamant never to do any business with me and has done everything in her power to thwart me and my plans so far?”

“As I said,” she sighed, dejected, “I’m tired of running and fighting. That does not mean I want to die or let other people die for no reason if I can do something about it. If you want to take over and rule the wizarding Britain, do it, but not through violence and death. Not at the expense of other people’s lives.”

“Ah, so that’s your plan,” he said mockingly, “you intend to bargain for your life and the lives of others by trying to appeal to my humanity. I lament informing you that I don’t have it in me to be merciful without any sort of benefit. Therefore, if you intend for your plan to work and get me to agree in letting you and those on the opposing side of this conflict live, you’ll have to offer me something in return.”

His grin acquired a maniacal quality and there was a shrewd glint in his narrowed blood-red eyes.

She took a deep reassuring breath, then looked him directly in the eye and began, “If you can promise me that you will not kill or attempt to kill me or the people who oppose you … I swear to you, Voldemort, that I will not stand in your way to victory nor will I make any attempts on your life. In fact, as soon as we come to an agreement, I will disappear from your life and you will never have to see or hear from me again.”

She paused to see his reaction, but he remained impassive and quiet, assessing her words.

“Surely this planet is big enough for both of us to live in it without crossing each other’s paths ever again if we don’t have to or want to … right?” she continued, yet no response came from his side.

She let out a self-deprecating huff. “Although to be perfectly honest, you probably would win regardless, with or without my interference.”

His face morphed into a smug grin and his eyes filled with mirth. “Oh … and why is that?”

“Because you’re immortal,” she stated in a level voice.

The smugness and mirth in his features disappeared almost instantly. “Indeed I am,” he confirmed stiffly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know that?”

She looked behind her back in apprehension. “Maybe we should take this conversation to some place more private and … enclosed?” she suggested instead. She really didn’t want to risk her friends waking up before she could finish talking with Voldemort.

There was apprehension in Voldemort’s stance and expression.

“There’s no trap whatsoever,” she assured him. “I simply wish to speak with you without interruption, that’s all.”

He continued to regard her, unconvinced.

“If you want … you can pick the place where you would like to talk,” she offered and hoped it would be enough to convince Voldemort.

“You would willingly let me choose the place for our negotiations, knowing you would be putting yourself at my mercy … simply because you want to speak uninterruptedly with me?” His eyes widened in genuine wonder.

She was aware it was unwise and it reeked of desperation, but she was determined to end the war that same day … through talking. Wasn’t that how people came to understand each other? And if things did turn aggressive, she knew she could count on Death and Marvolo.

“If it will make you more willing to engage in a conversation then, yes, I’m willing to let you pick.”

He regarded her some more, before saying, “Very well. We will go to a more private spot.”

He offered her his arm and she approached him with careful steps. When she was close enough, she took a deep, steadying breath, before holding onto his elbow, squeezing her eyes shut, and letting him apparate them to whichever destination he had in mind.

…

When her stomach and dizziness settled, she opened her eyes and looked at her surroundings.

The room was quite big, with a large mahogany desk in front of a large window, framed with bookshelves, and a few chairs around it. There was a loveseat near the left wall, surrounded by more bookshelves and above it a countryside landscape. There was a double wooden door behind her, as well as a few paintings of still life and landscapes.

“We are in my office at the Riddle Manor,” said Voldemort. “I hope it fits your privacy requirements.”

It made sense they were in an office, probably at a manor of sort, given the sheer size of it, but she expected it to be an office at Malfoy Manor, not the manor in Little Hangleton.

Voldemort sat at the desk. “Sit,” he gestured to the seat opposite him.

“Thank you,” she replied and sat down.

“Would you like anything to drink?”

The offer took her by surprise. “Uh … I-I’ll have either herbal tea or a glass of water, please.”

He called a house elf and ordered two cups of tea. _‘Since when does Voldemort have a house elf?_ ’

“Will Master’s guest be staying for breakfast, sir?” asked the house elf.

Voldemort looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“I-I wouldn’t want to intrude any further,” she answered awkwardly.

Voldemort quirked an eyebrow and sent the most unimpressed look her way. She could almost hear him saying, ‘ _Really? You don’t want to inconvenience me. Well, you’ve been inconveniencing me your entire life. In fact, your entire existence is an inconvenience to me and you’re worried about staying for a puny breakfast? If anything, you should be grateful and thrilled I even granted you the opportunity to eat in my home in my presence._ ’ Probably he wouldn’t phrase it in those exact words, but the expression on his face came close enough.

He turned to his house elf again and simply said, “Have two portions of breakfast ready by eight o’clock sharp. I have a feeling this conversation is going to take a while.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the elf. “Should we make the usual or would you like something else?”

“The usual will do just fine.”

“Yes, sir,” said the elf, bowing and disappearing a moment later.

A charged silence stretched between them. Ana didn’t dare make a sound. She watched him lean against the back of the chair, supporting his elbows on the armrests and intertwining his fingers in front of his chest. He reminded her of a mafia kingpin … Well, she supposed as a Dark Lord he was a wizarding version of a mafia boss.

“While we wait for the tea to arrive, we might as well continue our conversation,” he said with a shrewd look. “How do you know about my immortality?”

Ana struggled to maintain eye contact with Voldemort, but despite how much she wanted to avert her gaze or get up and flee, she forced herself to appear calm, cool and collected. “Dumbledore told me.”

He levelled her with a glare. “And what exactly did he tell you?” he gritted through his teeth.

She didn’t know what kind of an effect her words were going to have on Voldemort, but they needed to be said. She let out a shaky breath, cradling her hands on her lap.

“He told me about horcruxes.” There was immediate understanding in Voldemort’s eyes as soon as the word was out, but she pushed forward and kept talking. “… He showed me your past. He also destroyed the Gaunt Family ring during summer holidays and I …” Her throat constricted and her heart hammered in her chest and head. “I had to destroy your diary in my second year in self-defence and to protect my friend’s sister.”

Voldemort’s expression was unreadable. She had no doubt there was fury just waiting to spring forth and for Voldemort to unleash it onto her. For what was worth, she tried to explain herself.

“He left me no choice. He intended to kill me. It was either him or me, and I chose myself. I didn’t know it was a horcrux … not until this year.”

His face still didn’t portray his thoughts and feelings about the situation, but his tone, when he said the following words, was deceivingly calm. “Did Dumbledore mention how many horcruxes he suspected I created?”

“… He mentioned five … with a strong possibility of a sixth one.”

“And … did he tell you if he knew or suspected what they were?” he struggled to keep his cool.

“Beside the diary and the ring … he said you might have used artefacts dating to the founders’ era,” she informed him. “He was trying to determine the location of Salazar’s locket. On the day of his death, he took me to a Cliffside cave to retrieve the locket … It turned out it was a fake.”

“What do you mean it was a fake?” he snarled menacingly, while his eyes held a hint of panic. He must have realised that if the locket Dumbledore and she retrieved from the cave was a fake, then someone else got to the real one before them.

“Regulus Arcturus Black swapped the real one with a poor made replica,” she told him in a soft tone. “He was aware of your immortality and was determined to destroy the locket … but he died before he could do it and Kreacher, the Black Family house elf, couldn’t destroy it either.”

By the time she finished speaking, he was seething. His hands formed into fists and she could see him clench his jaw. The window rattled and the air around them became charged with heavy, suffocating energy and she found it difficult to breath.

If learning about the destruction of the ring and the diary and the disappearance of the locket made him this furious, she didn’t want to imagine what kind of a reaction he will have once she told him about her horcrux hunt.

Luckily, the arrival of the house elf broke the tension. He set the tray on the desk and served them tea in complete silence. Once he was done, she thanked him and he disappeared again.

She immediately busied herself with her cup of tea by picking up the cup, bringing it close to her mouth and softly blowing at the steaming liquid to reduce the heat. Voldemort kept frowning and glaring at her. She took a careful sip.

“Where’s the locket now?” demanded Voldemort, not falling for her stalling tactic.

Swallowing hard, she placed the cup back onto the saucer, took a deep breath, and placed a hand on her chest, saying, “Here.”

He looked, confused, at her neck and chest.

“… With me.” She pulled the locket from under her shirt.

Voldemort’s eyes glinted bright red with hunger. “Give it to me,” he demanded, extending the hand toward her, trying to grab the locket.

She leaned back into her chair, clasping her palm over the pendant, and said, “No,” in a determined tone.

Her refusal took Voldemort by surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

Her heart pounded frantically in her chest and she struggled to keep her voice steady and her body from shaking, but she managed to keep an impassive and collected façade. “I’m not handing over the locket,” she repeated, unwavering, and before Voldemort could take it as a cue to attack her and put an end to their negotiations, she hurried to add, “not until having magically enforced reassurance that you will not kill me or send other people to do it instead. Together with the other thing I told you as well, of course.”

His demeanour relaxed a bit. He leaned back into his chair, a wicked smirk adorning his pale, snake-like face.

“You’re devious. Are you sure you’re not a Slytherin?”

It was probably meant as a compliment, which was a very weird experience in of itself for Ana (it wasn’t every day that one got praised by a Dark Lord, much less Voldemort, who thought himself above everyone else), but she couldn’t care less, not when her and her friends’ survival depended on this conversation.

“Not devious, resourceful,” she corrected him. “Desperate. Tired. If I must use the locket and my knowledge of the identities and the locations of your remaining horcruxes as leverage to ensure the safety of others and my own peace and quiet, then so be it.”

“Why so determined to end this war as peacefully and as soon as possible?” wondered Voldemort. His intrigued, narrowed eyes bore into her, trying to understand.

“Because I know what will happen if this continues,” she replied calmly.

“I didn’t know you were a seer,” he commented sardonically.

“That’s because I’m not.”

“Then how can you possibly know?”

She inhaled deeply. “… Because I’ve lived it. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it … And I’ve witnessed nothing but death and destruction. I should know since I was part of it.” She paused to collect her thought, before continuing. “I don’t know how the conflict ended, because I died and Nagini was still alive, but it probably ended with your victory.”

He held up his hand, a silent demand to shut up. She stopped talking and watched him let out a sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t think I understand. What do you mean you died, when you are here, in front of me, very much alive?”

“I died, Voldemort,” she assured him, looking him straight in the eye. “… You killed me with the Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest on May 2nd 1998.”

His eyes widened. “Time travel?”

“Sort of,” she shrugged. “… It’s complicated.”

“If there’s anything we have in abundance right now, that’s time, so please, explain how you could have possibly time travelled after death, because in my mind it doesn’t make any sense.”

“I didn’t use a time-turner if that’s what you think,” she told him. “… But I do have a rather fascinating friend that can do a lot of things.”

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “And who is this … _friend_?” he spat contemptuously.

“Well … I say friend, but actually he’s my boss,” she tried to explained, but only ended up rambling. She let out a sigh. “It’s complicated.”

Voldemort didn’t seem amused. “I don’t care about the complexity of your relationship with that person, I just want to know their identity,” he snarled through his teeth.

“My friend is not exactly a person,” she began carefully; “… he’s a concept, both abstract and concrete. He’s the very thing you fear the most actually. I’m sure it’s not a difficult guess.”

At first, Voldemort frowned. Was she pulling his leg? Then, not long after, a chill went through him as he came up with the only viable answer … Death.

No, this could not be possible.

“Boo,” came an unearthly whisper from his behind his left shoulder.

He started, turned his head towards the source of the voice and came face to face with a hooded skull. He yelped, jerking violently, and a moment later, his chair tipped over and he fell. Survival instincts kicking in, he hurriedly scooted backwards to put as much distance between himself and Death, however, the room was too small in his opinion, because all too quickly he hit a wall.

A deep chuckle reverberated through the room as well as his bones, making goose bumps erupt on his skin.

“If I had known I would get such a reaction out of you, I would have tried scaring you a lot sooner,” the entity said, amused. The cloaked skeleton, wielding a giant scythe, floated to Ana’s side. “I always did find your fear of me quite amusing, my dear Tom,” said Death, “and the lengths you went to in order to avoid me.”

Voldemort continued to regard it with absolute terror, while his chest rose and fell in unison with his agitated breathing.

“Don’t worry, I am not bothered by how you cheated your way towards immortality,” Death assured him. “If anything, I’m impressed. Even if you hadn’t created the horcruxes, I still wouldn’t have any interest in claiming your soul whatsoever, because I would have gladly granted you immortality if you had been just a tad more patient and did more research.”

Regaining some of his cool, Voldemort slowly lifted himself up, using wall as support. He still had his eyes fixed on Death, but since it didn’t seem hostile towards him despite its natural terror-inducing appearance, he figured it wasn’t a direct threat to his life.

He cleared his throat. “How?” he wanted to know, his finger darting between Death and Ana. “How did _this_ happen?”

Ana’s eyes darted between Death and Voldemort. “Uh …”

“If you say ‘it’s complicated’ one more time, I’m going to lose it,” Voldemort warned her.

“Well, it is complicated,” said Ana indignantly.

“Then simplify it,” demanded Voldemort impatiently. His already fragile nerves were really taking a toll and it wasn’t even breakfast yet.

“To put it simply,” Death took over the explanation, much to Ana’s relief, “as a descendant of Ignotus Peverell and having been in possession of all three Deathly Hallows at the moment of her ‘death’, Ana Potter is the ‘Mistress of Death’ and my assistant. As my ‘Mistress’, she is immortal until she wishes to pass on, however, immortality does not exempt her from suffering physical, psychological and emotional trauma. She also has a limited access to my abilities, can freely interact with me and she can make requests, which I will do my best to make happen. As long as they are within reason, of course. In turn, she is bound to help me with the dead, either by taking the lives that have come to the end of their established life span or by sorting the souls of the dead, deciding who gets to be reincarnated and who gets cast into the Void. It can get very chaotic and overwhelming, trying to do all the work that I do without an assistant.”

While Death was speaking, Voldemort made his way to his chair, picked it up and sat again. Even after the entity stopped speaking, he remained silent, processing the most recent information.

“And why time travel only nine months back?” wondered Voldemort. “Why not years, decades even?”

A terrifying thought occurred to him. If she so wished, Ana could have gone back to when he was born and killed him to prevent all the mess and deaths he caused.

“While I can travel through space and dimensions indiscriminately, I cannot simply undo events or bring people, whose souls I have already claimed permanently, back to life,” explained Death and Voldemort almost let out a sigh of relief as an invisible weight lifted from his chest.

“This was a very special occasion,” continued Death, “too many souls that weren’t supposed to die started appearing in my foyer and it would have taken me at least 9 to 12 months to sort everyone out. Incidentally, I have become aware Ana possessed all three Deathly Hallows, so, when she showed in limbo, I met with her, we had a very pleasant chat and came to an agreement. She would return to the plane of the living, but I would send her back exactly nine months before her ‘death’ so she could save as many lives as she could to make things easier for me … and because she cares too much about everyone and everything.”

After hearing this, Voldemort had a better idea and understanding of the situation and Ana’s urge to put an end to the war. If he only needed to promise to leave her and her friends (plus the people on the light side) alive; she would never try to harm him or thwart his plans again. In fact, he would never have to see her again. With Ana out of the country or simply living in some remote, godforsaken place in Britain, he would have absolute control of the wizarding Britain and he could always use Dumbledore’s puppets for heavy labour. Maybe, if he could get Ana to agree, he could even get away with killing and torturing them should they attempt to kill him.

He would have to absorb the two vagrant soul pieces, and collect the rest and make sure to hide them better, protect them better. Speaking of horcruxes, how exactly did Ana know so much about their identities and locations if even Dumbledore only had a hunch about what they were and where they were?

“While this conversation has been very enlightening, there is one more thing I would like you to explain to me.”

“What is it?”

“I can understand you knowing as much as you do, because of time-travelling, however, I still don’t understand how you know so much about my horcruxes, when even Dumbledore only suspected what they were and where they were?”

Ana paled and gulped nervously. His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like her reaction and he had a bad feeling about it. Something must have happened, something bad.

After taking a few deep breaths, she found enough courage to face him and say, “… Because in a misguided effort to defeat you … I hunted down most of the remaining horcruxes … and destroyed their containers.”

Deafening silence followed her confession as Voldemort tried to come to terms with what she told him. His horcruxes … his precious horcruxes were destroyed … Or at least, they had been at some point in the following nine months. Dumbledore destroyed his ring, but Ana destroyed every single remaining horcrux except Nagini.

Agitation coupled with pure fury coursed through him. He fisted his hands, stood from the chair and slowly marched towards Ana.

“I can excuse the destruction of my diary since you weren’t aware of its true nature and you only did it in self-defence,” he snarled through his teeth, his entire body shaking in anger. The lights inside the office started flickering and there was a breeze of wind inside the room, even though the window was shut tight.

Ana’s breathing quickened as she, too, stood up and started walking backwards, trying to maintain the distance between them.

“However,” he continued, seething, not paying attention to anything else but Ana and her quivering form, “I cannot excuse your deliberate destruction of the locket, the diadem and the cup.”

She let out a sigh of disbelief. “ _You_ _can’t_ _excuse_ _me_?” she whispered, accentuating every word. Those words, the way he said them, snapped something inside of her. She felt incredibly angry. She stopped moving and stood her ground, steeling her expression, and before she could control herself, she lashed out.

“How _dare_ you feel offended by my actions when you’ve done things far worse than what I did?!” she raised her voice, holding her chin up high, eyes blazing. “How _dare_ you get angry at me for destroying your horcruxes, when you’ve ruined my _entire_ life!?”

Her outburst took him by surprise, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he stubbornly glared at her, itching to curse her, make her scream and suffer for her insolence.

“Every horcrux I destroyed is a payback for one important person you took from me: my father, my mother, my godfather! Because isn’t that how they did it back then?! Eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth! You hurt me and I hurt you!”

By the time she finished yelling, she was heaving, her index finger directed at him accusingly. Voldemort didn’t say a word for what felt like an eternity, he just kept staring at her with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

“If you hate me for ruining your life, then why are we even having this conversation right now?”

She let out an incredulous sigh. “Because I don’t want us to fight anymore, that’s why!” she exclaimed in exasperation. Was he not listening to her prior to her confession about the horcruxes? “I’m tired of fighting, running, and hiding. I want to leave this animosity between us in the past. I don’t want to live my life hating you either. It’s not healthy and I need to take care of myself now.”

Marvolo suddenly manifested beside her, looking straight at Voldemort’s confused expression. “She’s telling the truth,” he informed his original self. “But if you’re still bent on harming her, then I’m afraid I can’t let that happen.”

Voldemort gaped at his younger self. “I can’t believe this,” he breathed. “My own horcrux has turned against me. You do realise what she did to you?”

“Yes, I am aware,” he told him flatly. “I am also aware of the fact she didn’t destroy the actual soul pieces.”

“I don’t care if she exorcised my soul pieces or not,” snarled Voldemort viciously. “I put all those protections on the objects for a reason. If it were up to me, the soul pieces would never run the risk of being released from their containers. Otherwise, it defeats the purpose of the horcruxes, if the containers can be easily destroyed.”

“Well, what matters now is that I have her word not to even think about harming me, the other horcruxes and you, otherwise I’ll make her suffer.”

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. After a moment of silence, he spoke to his horcrux again. “Why do you protect her?” He pointed his finger at Ana.

“Because she’s seen the error of her ways as Dumbledore’s puppet, but most importantly, she’s pregnant.”

Voldemort frowned. “Pregnant?” He looked at Ana’s face and a second later at her flat stomach.

“Yes,” confirmed Marvolo. “Not only that. She’s pregnant with our child,” announced Marvolo excitedly.

Voldemort’s eyes widened in a mixture of shock and horror and his breath hitched. His ashen pale face turned even paler and, for a moment, the stillness that he exhibited made him look like a statue.

Ana felt nervous … scared of Voldemort’s reaction once he recovered enough to speak. She tried telling herself she was going to be fine whether he wanted to form part of the child’s life or not. That it would make no difference to her as long as they could end their feud. However, she secretly hoped that Voldemort would display the same kind of protectiveness and possessiveness for the child, just like he was bent on protecting his horcruxes, his soul pieces.

When Voldemort found his breath again, he stumbled back and leant against the chair, closing his eyes. “How?” he whispered. “How can she carry my child when I’ve never even touched her, nor anyone else for that matter, in an intimate way?”

“Well,” began Marvolo bluntly, “think of Ana as Virgin Mary that is carrying baby Jesus and you put the child in her through ‘Divine Intervention’.”

Voldemort sent a dark look his way. “Did you really just make a reference to the Bible?” His voice was cold, but his hands started to shake. “You know how I feel about religion, especially after what those religious zealots at the orphanage did to us.”

“Uh … yes,” chuckled Marvolo awkwardly, “a bad joke, sorry for bringing back bad memories. So, you want to know how it could possibly happen. First, I think you need to learn two things. The first one is that Ana has been your horcrux for the past sixteen years.”

Voldemort stared at Marvolo in utter shock. Rarely did things leave him speechless, but apparently, that day was full of revelations that made it difficult for him to find words. And to think that the day had barely even begun.

“The second one is that, when you cast that Killing Curse at Ana on May 2nd 1998; you separated your soul from hers. While Ana was in limbo with Death and the soul shard, she made the decision to take the soul shard with her, but the only way to get the soul shard back into the plane of the living was by giving birth to it,” explained Marvolo. Ana was just grateful she didn’t have to explain it. She probably would have done a terrible job anyway.

Voldemort sat down, looking lost and confused, trying to make sense of the conundrum before him. He leaned forward, supporting his arms on his knees and pressing his head against his hands, staring at the floor.

“If she’s pregnant with the soul piece, doesn’t that make her a horcrux still?” he spoke after a long while, looking at the other three.

“Not really,” intervened Death, “and the child isn’t a horcrux either, because, first of all, the soul piece is not a piece anymore but its own _separate_ and _complete_ being with a unique genetic material and its own magical signature, otherwise, the child would be your twin brother or your clone, which is not the case.”

There was a pensive frown on Voldemort’s face. Then, a few seconds later, he stood up and approached Ana with a stiff expression. “Show me,” he demanded.

She was confused. What exactly did he want her to show him?

“I need you to show me what happened in limbo with Death as well as important memories from the nine months you have erased. I can try to wrap my head around everything you three have said, but I _need_ to see it for myself to believe it.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes. After a long beat of silence, Ana nodded. “Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll show you.”

He stepped closer, so close their bodies were almost touching and they could feel each other’s body heat through their clothes. She swallowed; her lips and mouth went dry. She would really appreciate another sip of tea. Her stomach fluttered and she felt overwhelmed by his presence and scent. She started blinking, a lot, struggling to keep her eyes on him. His hands cupped her hot cheeks, gently angling her head upwards. Her hands began to sweat and she found it difficult to breath.

“If you keep blinking, I won’t be able to perform Legilimency at all.”

“S-Sorry,” she stammered. She was feeling extremely anxious. Why was she feeling anxious? She was just going to show him select memories, but judging by how rubbish she was at Occlumency; she probably won’t even be able to select the memories herself.

“Please be gentle,” she pleaded nervously, “no matter what you see or how it makes you feel, please don’t hurt me. Bear in mind that, for you, nothing of what you are about to witness has happened … and it doesn’t have to happen at all.”

He frowned, but otherwise said nothing. When seconds kept passing by and he didn’t give his assurance of no-harm, Marvolo chimed in. “If you cause her any major discomfort or pain, Death and I will immediately intervene and pull you out of her mind.”

Voldemort glanced at Marvolo and Death, then, he nodded stiffly and returned his eyes to her. “I give my word not to cause you any intentional harm. However, I cannot control the level of discomfort you might feel as a side effect.”

She nodded, took a deep, calming breath with closed eyes, before opening them and connecting her gaze with his. Almost immediately, the room around them disappeared and Voldemort found himself inside Ana’s mind filled with thoughts and memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who want to know more about the timeline in this AU, the Order transported Ana on July 13th and then Bill and Fleur's wedding happened on July 15th. Ana, Hermione and Ron have been hiding at Grimmauld Place from July 15th to August 1st, when they infiltrated the Ministry.
> 
> For the next three chapters, we will dive into Ana's memories of what happened between August 2nd and May 2nd in the 'original' timeline. The first part is titled 'A Trip through Memories I: Becoming a Monster'.


	3. A Trip through Memories I: Becoming a Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort finds out what happened between August and the end of April.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to preface this by saying that this chapter contains some blood and violence, but nothing too over the top. 
> 
> There is also some Cockney Rhyming Slang involved. I don't know how many of you are familiar with it, but essentially it's a secret language that originated in the 19th century in the East part of London. It's formed by replacing a common word (for example 'bank' ) with two or more words, where the last word rhymes with the word you're replacing (so, instead of 'bank' you would say 'fish tank' and instead of 'stairs' you would say 'apples and pears'.) I find it extremely fascinating and sometimes downright hilarious. If you want to look up some words on your own, here is the link to the slang dictionary that I also used when I was writing this chapter https://www.cockneyrhymingslang.co.uk/. However, if you don't feel like looking it up, I will have the translations of the expressions I used in my end notes. 😄
> 
> And finally, Ana in this chapter is inspired by Lara Croft in the rebooted trilogy. Especially her survival skills, her stealth mechanics and the use of bow and arrow. There's an explanation why she knows so much about surviving in nature, so, it will be explained how she knows how to carve a bow and arrows and all that jazz.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter and thank you for all the support! I hope you continue to enjoy the story. 💕🤗

He found himself in a forest. From his right, he heard the sound of splitting wood and turned his head towards it. There, a few feet away from him, sat Ana on a tree stump, surrounded by half a dozen empty tin cans, a dozen hazel arm-length shafts and a plastic bag full of large-sized crow feathers, cutting and carving what he supposed was going to be a bow, made from Ash.

He approached her, knowing she would not notice his presence, and observed her. How was this memory important? Was this memory important? It must be if it stood out from many others. And since this was the first one in a series of memories that seemed clearer than others, it must be chronologically closest to the current date.

Once she seemed satisfied with the shape and the flexibility of the bow, she proceeded to tie the string around the edges, while keeping the wood slightly bent. She then tested the bow to see how far she could stretch the string and where she felt most comfortable holding it. Setting it aside, she started peeling off the bark off the hazel shafts by hand. She then carefully created a sharp point on one side and a nock for the bowstring on the other.

She started a small fire.

While the wood burned and turned to coal, she took out her knife again and a rock to cut out the tops and bottoms of the tin cans. Then, she started folding them into halves, hammering the tin with the rock to flatten it and make sharp edges, until she made small tin cones, which would serve as arrowheads.

She proceeded to split the feathers, before turning her attention to the embers. Taking some of the coal from the hearth, she placed it on a large flat rock nearby and placed her tin can filled with spruce sap and let it melt. In the meantime, she crushed the coal into fine powder and added it to the viscous melted resin.

After checking the consistency of the tar-like substance, she began coating the sharp arrow shafts with it before slipping the primitive-looking tin arrowhead on and sealing it. She repeated the same process with the other eleven arrow shafts.

Voldemort still wasn’t sure what the purpose of the memory was, but he found himself mesmerised by her resourcefulness, which was a very Slytherin trait. It was truly fascinating watching her create such a primitive muggle weapon with her hands and primitive tools, using only her wits and fundamental knowledge of surviving in nature.

After securing the arrowheads, she proceeded to fletch her arrows by attaching the bird feathers on the rear end, close to the nock, with a combination of resin-coal glue she concocted earlier and thin string over the entire length of the feathers. Once secured, she lightly trimmed the feathers with a pair of scissors she took out from her makeshift tool belt around the torso.

Just as she finished with the fletching of the last, twelfth, arrow, a female voice called her from the left. “Ana, come inside, lunch is ready.”

Both Ana and Voldemort turned their heads towards the source of that voice. It was that Mudblood know-it-all friend of Ana’s who was at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and who managed to stun Nott and Rabastan Lestrange, and silence Dolohov, before he finally incapacitated her.

“Coming,” she called, “just let me wash my hands.”

“Okay, but don’t take long or your noodles will get soggy.”

Ana stood up and walked to the nearby stream. He followed her. As she was squatting and rubbing her hands in the water, Voldemort noticed the cuts, welts and splinters marring her palms. She let out a hiss of discomfort and pain every now and then, while she rubbed out the coal dust from her skin.

Once her hands were clean enough, she shook off the excess water and returned to the tent. He entered after her and looked around for a bit, before setting his gaze on the dining table where three teenagers were eating noodles from plastic cups.

Midway, while Ana was slurping the soup, the Mudblood gasped. “What happened to your hands?” she asked, gaping at Ana’s hands.

Ana looked at the injuries and shrugged them off. “It’s not a big deal, Hermione, they’re just scratches. They’ll heal.”

“I know that,” deadpanned the Mudblood, “but you could have put on some gloves before you decided to work with wood and sharp metal edges.” At least Ana had the decency to look guilty.

She got up. “When you finish eating, come to the living room so I can patch you up.” She threw the cup into the waste bin and went to fetch the first aid kit.

Ana quickly finished her noodles and joined her friend on the sofa in the living area.

“Put your hands forward, palms up,” instructed the Mudblood.

Ana did as told without protesting. The Mudblood took Ana’s hands into her lap and armed with tweezers, she began extracting splinters. While her friend was concentrating on her task, Ana regarded her with tenderness and a soft smile.

Once the Mudblood removed the splinters, she took out what he supposed was some kind of rubbing alcohol to disinfect the wounds. As soon as the alcohol hit an open cut, Ana winced in pain. Her friend noticed that and made sure to clean her wounds as gently as possible, blowing cold air to alleviate the pain.

When she was done with alcohol, she took out what looked to be some healing balm and applied it directly onto the wounds. “You know, Ana,” she began tentatively; “you don’t need to do this.”

“Maybe,” allowed Ana, “but you know as well as I do, Hermione, that our supermarket food supply is not going to last us forever. Pasta, rice, noodles, cereals, milk and condiments will last us a long time in terms of the expiration date, but meat, vegetables and fruit will not. And with three adults eating at least twice a day, the quantity that we have is not going to last very long. And since we decided to stay away from populated areas and limit our magic as to not leave behind any magical residue or signature, we have to do everything the muggle way, even gather food by hand,” she reasoned.

The Mudblood continued to dress Ana’s hands. Ana sighed.

“We don’t know how long this war is going to last,” she continued, “we don’t know when or how exactly we’re going to gather and destroy his horcruxes, but I bet it won’t be anytime soon. So, we need to expect this to last well into the winter, maybe even into the spring, and if that happens, Hermione, we won’t be able to get through winter by eating plants and forest fruit and mushrooms, because there won’t be any because of the snow and cold. We’ll need meat to keep us fed and we can’t have meat if we don’t have the tools to hunt the forest animals from a distance.”

By the time Ana finished her monologue, her friend finished bandaging her hands. She let out a heavy sigh. “I know,” she admitted. “But, please, use gloves or bandage your hands before you decide to work with wood and other sharp objects. I already have my hands full with Ron’s injury; I really don’t want to see you hurt if you can avoid it.”

Ana smiled and nodded. “Okay, I can do that at least.”

The memory blurred and faded as Voldemort walked up to the next prominent memory.

…

Again, he found himself in the same forest. This time he was standing next to Ana, who was shooting arrows into a tree. There was one arrow already stuck in the trunk, while Ana was drawing the bowstring with another.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the first memory, but Ana’s focussed expression sent chills down his spine. She reminded him of a predator, stalking its prey.

She released the arrow and it hit the target. Ana’s stance and face immediately relaxed into a wide grin as she celebrated another successful shot with a hissed ‘Yes!’ and a fist pump. She walked to the target and pulled out the two arrows, then returned to her previous post and prepared to do it all over again.

Her breath and limbs steady, she drew the bowstring back again, aimed and released. This time, she missed.

“How’s practice going?” A male voice came from behind them and they both turned towards the source again.

Ana smiled. “Well, I’m making much better progress than yesterday or a couple of days back,” she said. “I’m only eleven shots in and I already made eight successful shots,” she announced proudly.

“Impressive,” commented the freckled, redheaded male.

“However, I still have eighty-nine more shots to go for the day, so, if I can get my overall success rate over eighty percent and in a day or two over ninety percent, than I think I’m good enough to start hunting actual animals.”

“Well, I look forward to eating pigeon and rabbit,” said the boy. “I wonder if they taste like chicken.”

Ana laughed.

Irritated, Voldemort skipped to the next memory.

…

Again, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the last memory, but he assumed not much. He was in the forest again, only that this time, he found himself standing knees-deep in the middle of vegetation, with Ana kneeling down on one knee, staring in front of her, where two-dozen-feet away was some sort of snare.

Nothing happened for a while, until a few minutes into the waiting, there was movement and a wild rabbit came hopping towards the contraption. Sniffing, exploring and finally falling for it and getting his leg stuck in the snare. For a while, the rabbit thrashed wildly to free itself, but it only got itself more entangled.

Ana got closer, feeling uncertain. She was taken with the rabbit’s cute and fluffy appearance and hesitated to kill it. She squatted beside it and petted it.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the animal, “but I have to do this,” she told it. “I promise to make it quick and your meat and skin will not go to waste.”

Steeling herself, she stood up, created a bit of distance, drew her bow and shot the rabbit with the arrow, piercing through skin and flesh. The rabbit died instantly.

Taking a few breaths, she pulled out the arrow, freed the rabbit, reset her snare and returned to her hiding spot amidst the vegetation with a rabbit in hand.

“One down, two more rabbits to go,” she sighed as she resumed her waiting.

…

He saw her walking through the woods with a basket, picking mushrooms, cutting the stems with her survival knife. Her basket was already almost completely full, but she continued to go deeper into the forest, looking for a few more.

He followed her.

As she was picking up the final mushrooms, she heard a tree branch snap and the rustling of leaves from behind her. She froze, immediately scanning her surroundings for danger. After not seeing anything, she stood up with her basket full of mushrooms and began moving towards the tent, while being on alert should something or someone suddenly spring at her.

She barely made a few steps, when she heard the noise again. She whirled round and frantically looked left and right, panic bubbling in her chest and stomach. She began retreating backwards and just as she was about to turn to pick up her step, she collided against something solid and a pair of arms encircled her.

She let out a yelp of surprise, dropping the basket.

“Look what I found,” said a male voice in her ear with a strong cockney accent.

She began struggling, but the man was taller and stronger than she was.

“What is a beautiful young Ocean Pearl like yourself doing all alone in a forest?” He brought a hand to her face to caress it and she immediately faced away, flinching in disgust.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled.

“A feisty one as well, I see,” he chuckled, only to bury his nose into her hair and draw in a deep breath, revelling in her scent. She let out an uncomfortable groan as she tried to break free from the hold.

“Let go of me, you bastard!” she said firmly.

He chuckled again. “Not before I’ve taken a good Butcher’s Hook at your pretty little Hale and Pace, Turtle Dove,” he said. “I’m on a Dog’s Knob for the Dark Lord, you see. He’s looking for a Twist and Twirl like yourself, you see. Black Bonney Fair, green Mince Pies, and a lightning Mars Bar on her forehead.”

Ana stiffened. She wasn’t entirely sure what the man was talking about, but despite the nonsense coming out of his mouth, she could tell he was looking for her to bring her to _him_. She started twisting with renewed vigour, determined to keep her face hidden.

Suddenly, he grabbed her by the hair and twisted her face towards his. “Don’t make this difficult, Turtle Dove,” he hissed in warning close to her face, his breath colliding against her skin. “I can be extremely good when I want to, but I can also be very nasty if you get in the way of my Dog’s Knob.”

She pressed her lips together as her nostrils flared. She was scared, though she did her best to mask it. He looked at her bangs and blew some air to flip them up and get a look at her forehead.

Shit!

He repeated it a couple of times. By the end of it, he started laughing. “It _is_ you, Turtle Dove,” he said, grinning as if he had just won the bingo. He got another good look at her, taking a deep breath, while his eyes narrowed and filled with arousal.

“Too bad the Dark Lord wants you Brown Bread, when you’re such a Tutti Frutti. Maybe I should have some fun with you, before he kills you,” he leered at her, “I’m sure you’ll taste real good.” He licked his lips. “And who knows, maybe if you beg him nicely he might take you in as a whore for himself and his Death Eaters. Imagine just how busy you will be serving all those cocks, maybe you will even be knocked up a few times.”

She shivered in fear and disgust. “I’d rather be dead than to live like that,” she gritted out, glaring at the snatcher. “And if he doesn’t kill me, then I will do it myself, before letting you or anyone else put a single finger on me against my will.”

“Why so against the pleasures of a Zig and Zag, Turtle Dove, when you probably didn’t even have your cherry popped yet?” said snatcher mockingly. “Who knows, maybe you’ll enjoy it and find your true calling as the Death Eaters’ Whore?”

“Never!” She spit into the snatcher’s face, stomped his foot with her heel and elbowed him in the ribs.

His grip on her loosened and she started running away from him, only to have him grab her ankle and make her lose her balance. She fell.

“Let go, you bastard!” she shouted, kicking at him and struggling to get away from him, but he held onto her with force.

“Wrong move, Turtle Dove,” he said, heaving, “I would have treated you like a princess, but now you went and made me angry.”

He covered her with his body. “Get off!”

The snatcher started calling for his colleague and in a moment of brief clarity, she remembered she had the knife with her. She reached for the handle, pulled it out and stabbed the man above her in the side to silence him.

He tensed, wide-eyed, as the blade pierced through his clothes and flesh and Ana pulled it out only to jab it again into his side.

“You will _not_ touch me without my permission,” she snarled, her eyes wide and crazy. She pulled the knife out and jabbed it in again with force, twisting it. “Nor will I allow anyone to touch me if I don’t want to be touched.” Another stab. “And you will _not_ take me to _him_ either.”

She repeated the motion a few times, until the snatcher went slack and collapsed lifeless and bleeding on top of her.

Breathing heavily, she pushed him off, letting him roll onto his back next to her.

His colleague was getting closer and, before he caught sight of her, she scrambled to her feet, still clutching the knife, and ran towards the nearest tree that was wide enough to hide her form and struggled to quiet down her breathing.

She heard him pause at the corpse. She glanced in the direction she came from to see a burly and tall man crouching beside his fallen comrade, inspecting his corpse. When he lifted his face, she quickly hid her head and heard him sniff the air as if trying to catch her scent and determine her location.

“So … the Undesirable number one has claws and teeth, yet chooses to run and hide like a little mouse.” His deep voice and steps were coming closer. She held her breath and shivered like a leaf in a storm, terrified to her bones, with her heart hammering wildly in her chest and ears.

“You can run, but you can’t hide, little mouse,” he mocked. “Because I know exactly where you’re hiding.” Now the rustling was so close, she expected him to jump at her from either side.

Steeling herself, she slowly started to move along the trunk to her right, making sure the rustling of his steps across the leaves muffled hers. She came face to back with him.

“Although with how much you’re annoying the Dark Lord and the rest of us with your little hiding games, comparing you to a flea would be much more accurate.”

There was determination and coldness in her green eyes as she approached the man from behind and plunged the knife into his back, near the heart, taking him by surprise. “I’ll show you what this flea is capable of, you son of a bitch,” she snarled, before stabbing the man in the neck perforating his neck arteries.

The man gurgled and turned around, a look of surprise and utter shock on his face.

She stabbed his other side of the neck. Blood was coming out in heavy spurts and the man fell over onto his back.

“Die! Die, you piece of shit!” She kept stabbing and slashing at him, even after he stopped moving and breathing. The adrenaline pumping through her veins was clouding her mind and rational thought. She was still in her fight-or-flight mode, ready to defend her honour and life to the end, with everything she had.

In that moment, as she was viciously mutilating his employee, Voldemort felt something he never thought he was capable of feeling … arousal. Pure and unaltered arousal at the sight of Ana Potter, Saint Potter, the Saviour, Dumbledore’s Golden Girl, covered in blood all over her face, hands and clothes as she drew the blade of the knife into the lifeless flesh over and over again. 

Unfortunately, after she exhausted herself and the adrenaline subsided a bit, she realised what she had done and dropped the knife as if it burnt her. Horror and disgust at what she had done reflected on her face as she shook, heaved and coughed. She crumpled to the ground, covering her mouth as tears flooded her eyes and cheeks and after her body twitched a few times, she was emptying her stomach on the ground.

It took her a while to gather herself. She picked up the knife again and walked to the nearby stream, where she got rid of her clothes and washed herself thoroughly, scrubbing the skin, trying to wash away the blood, the shame and guilt of her act. She did the same with the knife and tried to do the same with her clothes, but realised she couldn’t get the blood entirely out, so she simply gave up, took out her wand and cast a ‘Tergeo’ and a Drying Charm on them.

After getting dressed, she returned to the corpses and decided to hide them. First, she dragged the first snatcher next to the second one beside the tree, where she decided to dig out a pit big and deep enough for both by using ‘Defodio’.

When she was satisfied with the size of the pit, she rolled them inside, before covering them with the soil and extra foliage. Breathing deep, she returned to where she dropped her basket with the mushrooms and gathered them.

Slowly, she returned to her friends, making sure to look as if nothing had happened.

Intrigued to see if he would encounter similar memories, he skimmed through memories where the guilt consumed her to the point of suffering nightmares, hallucinating the men she had killed and seeing blood, where there was no blood at all.

She was still soft. She still lacked the mental strength and resolve to accept that she wasn’t as pure and light as everyone thought her to be.

However, his opinion changed once he stumbled upon the following memory.

…

Ana was returning from her successful fishing with three fish in the basket, a handmade makeshift fishing spear, and bow and quiver on her back, when she heard the sound of spells.

She hurried to the tent, where she spotted her friends duelling three snatchers.

She set the basket down, then took out her bow and arrow, aimed at the first snatcher’s back and shot him without hesitation. She quickly drew the next arrow and sent it straight through the second snatcher’s neck. The third and final snatcher realised his comrades have fallen. He turned around and received an arrow straight to the heart.

With an impassive mask, she stepped onto the clearing, carrying fish and her weapons, and walked straight to her friends, stepping on and over the middle snatcher.

“Here,” she said coolly, “the fish for supper, one for each of us.” She handed the basket over to the stunned and speechless Mudblood, before turning around to gather the arrows she had wasted on the snatchers.

“Ana,” breathed the Mudblood, horrified. “You killed them.”

She pulled the last arrow from the man’s chest and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I did,” in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Why?” questioned the Ginger.

“Because they were a threat to you … to us,” she said simply. “They had to go, there was no other way.”

“Of course there was,” exclaimed the Mudblood. “You could have stunned them, restrained them.”

Ana sent a blank look her friend’s way. “And then what?” she prompted. “What would you have me do after stunning or restraining them? Keep them fed and watered, spending extra food and drink, when it’s already getting difficult for just us three?” The Mudblood was silent. “Let them escape, return to their boss to tell him _exactly_ where he can find us?”

“We could have obliviated them,” suggested the Mudblood.

Ana gave her an unimpressed look. “Do you really think he wouldn’t notice a Memory Charm? Do you think he wouldn’t be able to restore their memories just to see what someone so desperately tried to hide? There’s a reason why he is who he is.”

The Mudblood and the Ginger fidgeted uncomfortably.

“As much as you don’t like to hear this, killing them was the best option for us right now,” she stated firmly.

Her friends looked at her, completely horrified. “Ana … what happened to you?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “I simply realised that sometimes one has to dirty their hands to protect what they love.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” she questioned her, baffled. “You’re talking about killing as if it was something completely normal.”

“I’ve been killing animals for the past few months,” she retorted, unfazed. “Killing humans is not that different.”

The Mudblood handed the basket with the fish to the Ginger head and walked up to Ana. “Give me the locket, Ana,” she demanded.

Ana immediately covered it with a hand and took a defensive stance. “No,” she said firmly.

“Ana, this isn’t you,” she said, anxious. “There’s no way this is you speaking. The locket is corrupting you. You’ve been wearing it since we took it from Umbridge. It’s not good for you.”

“No.” She remained unwavering. “I’m not parting with it until we have found the rest and destroyed them. Besides, it’s not like I’m asking you to dirty your hands, Hermione, because I’ve already done it for you.” She looked at the Ginger. “Both of you.”

She grabbed one snatcher by the arms and began dragging him away towards the trees.

“What are you doing?” inquired the Mudblood, alarmed.

Ana paused in her endeavour to look at her friend. “I’m going to dispose of the bodies,” she informed her nonchalantly. “If you don’t want to look, then don’t look. It’s as simple as that, Hermione. And if knowing I’m a murderer disturbs you, then maybe we should unanimously agree never to talk about this again.”

The Mudblood looked saddened by Ana’s words. “I don’t want you to lose yourself, Ana. I don’t want to see my best friend turn into a monster because of us.”

“I’m afraid I’ve already crossed that line, Hermione, and there’s no going back,” said Ana apathetically. “And if more of them come anywhere near our hideout, I will kill again.”

Intrigued and excited, Voldemort couldn’t stop staring at Ana, so when the memory ended, he was thirsty for more of her and her newly discovered cold-blooded and ruthless side.

Several months passed, before Ana went on a killing spree for the third time.

…

It happened during one of the nights in spring, when she was on the night watch. She was half-sleeping, when an internal alarm went off inside her as the wards she set up around the perimeter after the last snatcher incident were breached.

This time there were five it would seem.

With a predatory glare, she stood up and picked up her weapons: knife, bow and arrows, then carefully left the tent and began to move into the direction of the alarm.

Despite the dark, she stopped along the way near a mud puddle, scooped up some mud, and covered her entire face, neck, and clothes to become one with the environment and conceal her presence.

As the steps grew in volume, she swiftly and effortlessly climbed a sturdy-looking tree to reach a higher vantage point and assess the number of enemies as well as their location and distance from each other. As expected, there were five snatchers, three of them were quite close to one another and the remaining two were falling behind and even between them, there was quite a bit of distance.

She took her bow and an arrow, aimed for the most distant snatcher and felled him with a headshot.

Voldemort was impressed.

Before the nearest snatcher could be alarmed to the body hitting the ground, she drew another arrow and felled him with another headshot. The remaining three were now approaching the tree in which she was hiding. She waited for the snatcher at the front to pass by it and get ahead of the other two, before shooting him with an arrow to the torso.

The thud alerted one of the last two snatchers and he went to check, putting distance between himself and his remaining colleague. Ana unsheathed her knife and leaped down, directly onto the snatcher, who let out a grunt, and stabbed him in the neck, before slicing it open.

With a determined and focussed look, she stalked the last living snatcher like a predator and stabbed him in the back and neck.

Sighing, she straightened herself and began collecting bodies on a pile, before digging out another pit, shoving them all into it and sealing it, and she did it with such ease that it looked as if it was just a manual chore she had done plenty of times.

Voldemort was fascinated. Not many things fascinated him or even caught his interest, people even less so, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was enchanting, mesmerising, and he wanted to see more of what she was capable, how far she was willing to take it to protect her friends and herself, how far she was going to fall into the darkness and just how much of a monster was she willing to become.

From what he could see and tell so far, she had already fallen quite deep, if she didn’t even flinch or hesitate anymore in taking a life, when the situation was dire. There was still some remorse present, but to preserve her own sanity, she pushed it deep into the unconscious and did her best to ignore and forget about it ... and it had worked wonders so far.

He followed her back to the tent, after she had removed the dirt from her skin and clothes. She placed her bow and quiver as they were before, and waited for the sunrise. When her friends woke up and asked her if anything had happened during the night, she simply smiled gently and lied, “No, nothing out of the ordinary happened.”

The best part about her lie was how convincingly and easily she did it. Voldemort couldn’t wipe the grin off his lips. Yes, she was becoming a masterpiece, a real work of art.

…

It took his hypothetical future self, or was it past self, four tries and seventeen snatcher casualties, before finally capturing Ana along with her two friends.

This time, the other Voldemort sent a dozen snatchers to the Forest of Dean and even out of those dozen, Ana managed to kill seven, before they were overpowered.

It started peacefully, with Ana lounging around the tent with her friends after breakfast, twiddling with the locket around her neck, tracing the emerald ‘S’ with her index finger, until suddenly, Ana’s alarm went off and she jolted upright, gasping.

Unlike other times where there was only a handful of snatchers or less, this time there were a dozen snatchers, closing in on the tent.

“Hermione, Ron, we’ve been found. We must pack and leave immediately,” she told them with urgency, making sure to put on her bow and quiver, sheathe the knife and tuck her wand in her trouser pocket.

Her friends made sure they had their wands on them as well, before leaving the tent and putting it away.

The first few snatchers were already visible and Ana took out her bow and began shooting at them. She got three almost immediately one after another, but then, they started evading them.

“Shit!” she cursed and all three began running at full speed in the opposite direction.

When they put enough distance between them and the snatchers, Ana stopped to kneel on one knee and take out four more, before she ran out of arrows.

“Shit!” she cursed again.

The remaining snatchers began shooting spells at them and gaining up on them. She and her friends managed to send a few spells at the snatchers as well, but none connected with their intended target.

Suddenly, Ana let out a yelp of pain and lost her balance, landing on all fours. A Severing Charm had grazed her right ankle and she was bleeding. She tried to ignore the pain and push forward, but it hurt whenever she put pressure on the foot.

“Fuck!” she cursed, breathing heavily, panic raking through her entire body.

Through the mind-numbing pain, she heard her friends’ voices and, when she looked up, she saw them approaching to help her.

“No! Forget about me and just run, dammit!” she yelled at them, but they didn’t listen. They each grabbed one of her arms and draped it over their shoulders. They pulled her to her feet, but before they could make twenty feet, they found themselves surrounded with the remaining snatchers.

The Ginger and the Mudblood attempted to duel them, but two snatchers quickly disarmed them, while another two restrained them, pointing their wands at their necks to keep them from struggling.

Without the support, Ana fell onto all fours, heaving, her ankle throbbing.

“Well, well, well,” said one of the snatchers happily, “look what we found, my boys; the Undesirables one, two and three, I reckon. I dare say the Dark Lord will be most pleased with our performance today, boys.”

“Don’t touch them!” she snarled authoritatively, while glaring murderously at the group of wizard mercenaries from under her lashes.

“Too late, luv,” announced Scabior, twirling her wand in his hand, “my friends are already touching them to keep them restrained.”

She knew she wasn’t in a good position, but she could try bargaining for her friends’ freedom. “Look,” she started, sighing. “Your boss wants me. Let my friends go and I will come with you willingly.”

Scabior exchanged looks with his colleagues. Then, he looked at her again and sighed. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, luv,” he said in mock apology. “You see, if we only get you and not all three of you, then we’ll get less money than if we brought all three of you,” he explained.

She clenched her teeth and hung her head in defeat. She took a few deep breaths, before steeling her expression into her most terrifying grimace she could muster in her situation.

“Then you better not harm them, because if there’s so much as a scratch on them, I swear I’m going to fucking kill you in the most excruciating way possible.”

A couple of snatchers gulped and paled at the threat while the rest laughed. “Oh, look how afraid I am,” mocked Scabior.

“You should be,” she snarled through her clenched teeth, glaring at the snatchers. “Because I will get out of this alive and when I get free, I’ll hunt you down like the animals I hunted for food, then gut you and skin you like pigs and then, as you’re all bleeding out, I’m going to cut you into smaller pieces and feed you to wild animals.”

Now, even those who laughed turned serious. The only one who retained a sliver of amusement was Scabior.

“Oh, I would love to see you try, luv,” he said, “but you’re not really in a position to threaten and be convincing about it.” He used her own wand to point at her injured ankle and her kneeling position. “But we’ll restrain you extra good just to make sure you won’t end up escaping.”

As he said that, he used Ana’s own wand to gag her and tie her legs and hands. Then, he signalled to Fenrir to lift her up, before saying, “It’s time to collect our bounties at the Malfoy Manor, lads! And I think I’ll keep Ana Potter’s wand for myself.”

Fenrir Greyback took Ana’s bow and put it around his shoulder, then lifted Ana up and unceremoniously draped her over his other shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

…

“We come bearing gifts for the Dark Lord,” announced Scabior as they entered the foyer at Malfoy Manor.

“Oh, and what are these gifts?” asked Bellatrix, intrigued, at the sight of three teenagers.

“Ana Potter and her friends: the Mudblood and the Blood Traitor,” answered Fenrir.

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed as she walked up to Ana, grabbed her harshly by the chin and took a good look at her face and especially her forehead.

Ana was clenching her teeth in an effort to resist biting Bellatrix. Instead, she glared with so much venom, Voldemort could feel the hatred Ana felt towards the other woman, as well as the urge and want to hurt, torture and kill her, and he found it absolutely intoxicating and arousing.

Bellatrix grinned manically. “Yes, I remember this look on this face, but I think we should have Draco come confirm it for us. After all, he went to the same school as the Potter girl for six years, and I have seen her once, at the Ministry after my dear cousin Sirius tripped into the Veil.”

Ana’s murderous intent only increased when Bellatrix mentioned her godfather.

Bellatrix turned to Scabior and the other prisoners. “In the meantime, throw them in the dungeons with the other prisoners. Wormtail and I will personally go retrieve her when Draco gets here from school today.”

The snatchers did as told. They led them to the dungeons, where they shoved the Mudblood and the Ginger into the cell while Fenrir literally threw Ana inside as if she was indeed a sack of potatoes. She let out a pained grunt and her friends were immediately by her side, helping her sit up and getting out of her restraints. She was breathing heavily, her body still ringing from the impact.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, “I’m so sorry for getting you into this mess, but don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here. I swear I’ll get us out of here.”

“I suppose that would be a good time then to call on Dobby,” said a dreamy girly voice. It was the Lovegood girl.

“Luna?” gasped Ana, horrified to see her in a cell at Malfoy Manor. “What are you doing here?”

“They took me to silence my father,” said the Lovegood girl in a dreamy, nonchalant way. “The Dark Lord didn’t like what he was writing about him.”

Ana and her friends just stared at the girl in horror.

“That’s horrible,” said the Mudblood. Ana and the Ginger agreed.

“Who else is here besides you?” asked Ana, looking around the dark dungeon cell.

“Good day, Miss Potter,” greeted Ollivander, “the last time we met was when you were buying your wand. Holly with a Phoenix feather core, eleven inches, nice and supple, brother to the Dark Lord’s wand.”

“Mr. Ollivander?” exclaimed Ana. “Why are you imprisoned here?”

Ollivander sighed tiredly. “I had some information he wanted about the Elder Wand and the connection between your wand and his and apparently kidnapping me, stuffing me into a dungeon cell and torturing me was the way to do it. Oh, and I had to make a new wand for Peter Pettigrew.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Ollivander, Luna, I’ll get you out of here,” assured them Ana firmly. “I still don’t know how, but I will do it … somehow.” She recalled Luna mentioning Dobby. “Wait … Luna, you mentioned Dobby. Do you think it could work?”

“Elves are special,” said Lovegood, “and their magic as well. I think it’s worth a try.”

Ana inhaled deeply and called the house elf.

The tiny creature immediately apparated in the middle of the cell, in front of Ana. “Miss Ana Potter called for Dobby?” it squeaked.

Ana’s face illuminated. “Oh, Dobby, you don’t know how glad I am to see you,” she said, smiling.

“Dobby is always happy to help Ana Potter,” said the elf excitedly. “What can Dobby do for Ana Potter?”

She glanced at the cell door. “I need you to get us all out of here,” she whispered. “Can you do that?”

The elf looked at all the people in the cell, before nodding, his ears flapping wildly as he did that. “Dobby can rescue Ana Potter’s friends.”

“That’s wonderful, Dobby,” she grinned, “but not yet. We need them to see all of us in the cell when they come for me, but then, as soon as they take me upstairs, I need you to get Ollivander, Luna, Hermione and Ron out of here and to some place safe … but where?”

“We could go to Bill’s house,” proposed the Ginger.

“I don’t want to endanger more of your family, Ron,” said Ana, frowning sceptically.

“Nonsense,” he said dismissively, “Besides, You-Know-Who doesn’t know about it, so both Bill, his wife and us should be safe there. Plus, we’ll finally be able to sleep, wash and eat like decent human beings.”

Ana chuckled and shook her head, amused. “Fine,” she conceded. “We’ll escape to Bill’s home and after we regroup, we have to come up with a plan to find the cup and the diadem as soon as possible, otherwise this nightmare will never end.”

“I think I can help you with the locations of the items you seek,” said Lovegood.

“You can?” Ana asked, surprised, only to shake herself out of it and focus on the situation at hand. “In any case, we’ll think about that once we’re out of here. Now we need to focus on escaping.”

“When should Dobby come for Ana Potter?” asked the elf.

“When I call for you,” she told him, wearing a serious expression.

“Ana,” began the Mudblood, alarmed, “you’re not thinking of confronting You-Know-Who defenceless, are you?”

Ana smirked smugly. “Who said anything about being defenceless?” As she said it, she lifted her shirt a bit to reveal her sheathed knife.

The Mudblood gaped at her. “Are you out of your mind, Ana?” she whisper-yelled. “And what do you plan to do with that puny knife? Stab him and hope he drops dead when there are still four horcruxes out there?”

“I know he’s still immortal,” snapped Ana impatiently in a low voice. “But I can stun him with it; buy some time to call for Dobby. I can _hurt_ him, make him _bleed_ and for now that’s more than enough for me.”

Voldemort didn’t like this. She did something to him. Something more than just destroy the containers for his soul shards. He felt it. Did she really stab him? Suddenly, he recalled Ana’s words before he dived into her mind and started reviewing memories of events that happened before the time-travel.

Frowning, he fast-forwarded the memory to where Bellatrix and Pettigrew came to collect Ana. They had their wands pointed at her.

“Come,” beckoned Bellatrix, grinning manically, “my dear nephew has finally arrived and everyone is eager to know whether you truly are the Potter girl or not.”

Ana limped towards them to cover the fact that the elf had cured her ankle while they were coming up with the details for the escape plan. Once she was close enough, they each grabbed one of her arms and dragged her up the stairs into the drawing room.

There, the Malfoy family was already gathered. They forced her to her knees, with Bellatrix grabbing her by the hair and pulling it. “Come, Draco,” she beckoned her nephew gleefully, “I want you to tell us if this is Ana Potter or not.”

Draco approached. Ana kept an impassive face and waited for him to say the damning words. The seconds ticked by with agonising slowness, filled with a tense and heavy silence as Draco studied her face.

“It’s her,” he said stiffly, averting his gaze.

Bellatrix squealed in excitement. “We have the Potter girl! We have the Potter girl!” she celebrated in a singing voice, hopping in a circle; until she remembered she should probably let Voldemort know about it. “Oh, I have to inform the Dark Lord.” She rolled up her sleeve and touched the mark.

The air grew heavy and dense as the other Voldemort materialised a few seconds after the call.

“Have you found who was hiding in the Forest of Dean and making snatchers disappear?” he asked immediately, taking in the people gathered in the room with him, until his gaze settled on the kneeling Ana.

“Oh, yes, my Lord,” said Bellatrix immediately, resuming her hold on Ana’s arm. “Scabior and Greyback managed to capture Ana Potter and her companions.” She grimaced. “However, before they got them, the Potter girl managed to kill seven snatchers with this.” She summoned Ana’s bow.

Memory-Voldemort examined it carefully, caressing the carved wood. He approached her with a smirk. “Ana Potter … who would have thought Dumbledore’s champion was going to prove to be so … lethal,” he spoke in a hissing manner, leaning forward.

In turn, she leaned backwards. “I know what I did,” she said stiffly, pushing her chin up.

“Oh, but do you?” he wondered with a cruel smirk. “What would Dumbledore say if he knew his Golden Girl is a killer? Or your brave parents? Do you think they would be proud to have a murderer for a daughter?”

Ana stiffened, her eyes blown wide, clenching her teeth and breathing hard through her nose.

“Tell me, how did it feel to snuff out a human life? Did you enjoy it? You had to have taken some liking to it if you ended up killing … seventeen people in a span of … eight months. Quite an achievement, I dare say.”

She blinked a few times, averting her gaze. “I’m not like you.”

“Are you sure about that, Ana?” insisted Voldemort shrewdly. “Because the way I see it, you’re exactly like me. The only difference between you and me is that I use magic to kill and you use muggle means. The result is the same.”

Ana’s heart hammered in her chest and in her temples as Voldemort’s words rang through her mind. Panic constricted her throat.

“No,” she breathed meekly. She shook her head. “I-I did it to protect myself,” she stammered. “I did it to survive. Y-You kill for sport.”

“I also kill to protect myself, to survive,” said Voldemort nonchalantly. Ana’s wide and confused eyes snapped to his face again. “In fact, the first time I killed anyone was in self-defence and every time after that I have always done it if I felt threatened in some way.”

How had Voldemort felt threatened in any way? He killed to make himself immortal. He killed whoever stood in the way of his ideals, his way of thinking, his desire to be in charge.

He chuckled. “You don’t believe me,” he stated.

“I can’t really think of how you could have killed in self-defence,” replied Ana.

“For example, I pursue you, because you are a threat to me. I have been trying to kill you ever since you were born for the simple fact that a prophecy said you were going to be my downfall, and ever since you came to Hogwarts, you’ve been doing everything in your power to stop me through any means necessary.” His voice was sharp and cruel, his gaze full of hatred. The amount of frustration and poison wrapped around his words shocked her. “Tell me, _Ana_ ,” he snarled, “how is you killing my employees any different from me trying to kill you to preserve everything I’ve worked for decades?”

He paused to get his emotions under control. “It’s true that one gets used to killing and even ends up liking it,” he spoke with a smooth and silky voice again, as if the outburst from before had never even happened, “but the reasoning behind each murder is still survival in the end.”

His eyes hardened as he leaned closer into her face. “It’s either _you_ or _me_ , _kill_ or _be killed_ , and let me tell you something, Ana, between be or not to be, _I am_. And if I have to kill you or anyone else to ensure my existence, you can be sure I will not hesitate to go through as many bodies as I must to stay at the top.”

He paused again and his lips spread into a wicked grin. “But I’m not the only one who thinks like that, am I? For the past eight months, you’ve been living by the same kind of philosophy I have my entire life. So don’t think I don’t understand your struggle for survival, because I do understand … all too well. You see me as a monster because of it, but you have become the same kind of monster I have been my entire life.”

Her breathing was shallow and abrupt. She felt sick thinking she and Voldemort were similar in any kind of way. She wasn’t a monster, she still felt remorse, she was still human. She was still Ana.

“Accept it, Ana,” insisted Voldemort wickedly. “You’re a monster just like me. The sooner you accept it, the better.”

She squeezed her eyes shut not to look at him. She tried to block out his voice, his words.

“It’s almost a pity I have to kill you;” he said genuinely, “I could use someone of your calibre in my ranks. Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”

Suddenly, calm washed over her. Her breathing slowed down. Her thoughts centred. She remembered she had her knife. Since she wasn’t struggling, the grip Wormtail and Bellatrix had on her had loosened a bit. She quickly came up with an escape plan and a plan to get her revenge on Bellatrix, Wormtail and Draco. She only hoped enough time had passed for the elf to transfer the other prisoners to safety, so she could summon him to watch her back. When she opened her eyes, they were serene almost apathetic. She locked gazes with Voldemort.

“I may be a monster like you,” she spoke in a low and soft voice, “but I refuse to kill and torture in your name. Instead, I will take you down even if it is the last thing I do in my life. Because if I’m already destined to die, then I’m going to take you with me to the grave.”

Before anyone could react, she shoved Wormtail and Bellatrix away, enough to reach for Voldemort’s shoulder with one hand and reach under her shirt with the other, take out the knife and plunge it into his side. Voldemort’s eyes widened in shock as he stared at Ana, barely comprehending she had just stabbed him.

“Thank you for holding it for me, but I’ll be taking this now,” she whispered into his ear, grabbing the bow and taking the blade out of his side.

Bellatrix screeched, enraged at seeing her master hurt, while Voldemort simply glanced down at his abdomen, blinking and breathing heavily as his black robes became wet with his blood. He clutched the wound to stop the bleeding and staggered a bit.

Suddenly, there was a black whip wrapped around Ana’s throat. She immediately grabbed the whip and pulled it harshly towards her so Bellatrix stumbled forward. Then, she twisted slightly and high kicked the woman with force straight into the chest, making her fly backwards, gasping and coughing. Her wand fell to the floor.

Ana quickly put the bow over her shoulder. She noticed the other Voldemort had recovered from his shock and was grabbing his wand. She probably could have thrown the knife at him or tackled him, but she did the next best thing and grabbed Wormtail by the shirt, pulled him between herself and Voldemort and used him as a human shield.

The other Voldemort had already cast ‘Avada Kedavra’. It hit Wormtail head on and before Voldemort could do anything else, she shoved the man’s corpse into him, knocking him backward.

Breathing hard, she glanced at the three Malfoys, huddled together at the edge of the room against the wall. Ignoring them, she turned her attention back to Bellatrix, who was clutching her chest and trying to reach her wand.

Ana’s expression turned predatory as she gracefully stalked towards her. When she reached Bellatrix’s wand, she kicked it far out of the woman’s reach, then proceeded to step onto her hand, putting as much weight onto it as possible.

Bellatrix let out a cry and directed a glare at Ana, who was towering over her, knife in hand, ready to use it again. “How dare you?” she snarled at her, but Ana was unfazed. In fact, she was showing no emotion on her face whatsoever.

She called for the elf.

“Yes, Miss?” he said when he apparated next to her.

“Watch my back by keeping an eye on the Malfoys and Voldemort, while I take care of this bitch.”

“Yes, Miss. Anything for you, Miss,” said the elf excitedly.

She kneeled on top of Bellatrix, pressing her knees hard into her chest. “This,” she began, raising the knife high in the air, “is for my godfather, you _bitch_.”

And without any sort of hesitation, she stabbed her in the neck with as much force as she could muster. Several times. But she didn’t stop there. She kept stabbing and cutting into her neck, trying to sever off her head.

Less than a minute later, she managed to cut it off. Grabbing the head by the hair with her left, she lifted herself up, turned towards the Malfoy Family and Voldemort, who had managed to get free from Wormtail’s dead weight and was still clutching the wound.

She walked gracefully, almost seductively, towards the Malfoy trio, leaving a trail of blood behind her as Bellatrix’s severed head kept dripping blood onto the floor. She stopped by Voldemort first, throwing it in front of him as if it were a gobstone.

He briefly glanced at the head that rolled towards him, before lifting his gaze up and looking into Ana’s expressionless and emotionless eyes.

“This is the kind of monster I am, Voldemort,” she informed him impassively. “Do you still want to come after me?”

Voldemort said nothing.

She turned to the Malfoys and walked up to them. She stopped in front of Draco, her knife still in her right hand. “Give me your wand, Draco,” she said coldly.

He gulped, paling considerably, yet he still managed to choke out a refusal. “I’m not asking you, Draco, I’m telling you to give me your wand,” she said coldly. He shook his head. “We can do this the easy or the hard way. Your choice.”

Draco clutched his wand close to his chest, refusing to part with it.

Ana sighed, annoyed. “Hard way it is.” She reached and grabbed his hand, pulling it towards her.

“No, please,” he pleaded while struggling to release his hand, but her grip was strong, painful. In a swift movement, she swung her knife in an upward motion, slicing through Draco’s flesh like butter.

A blood-curdling scream erupted from him as he clutched and cradled his mutilated arm. His mother and father were both cowering and worrying over him, while also looking completely horrified at Ana, who simply pried Draco’s wand from the fingers of the severed hand, then threw it nonchalantly at them.

“Here, you can have your hand back,” she spoke in a completely detached tone. Draco continued to cry and whimper. “Oh, please,” she said irritatedly, “stop crying, it’s not like you’re dying. You can just sew it back on or ask your Lord to provide you with another … like he did with Pettigrew.”

She walked backwards to the other side of the room, her newly acquired wand aimed at the Malfoys and Voldemort alternatively. The elf was beside her at all times.

“What are you going to do with your newly acquired wand?” mocked Voldemort, pointing his own at her.

She grabbed the elf’s hand. “This.” She pointed towards the ceiling above them and said, “Bombarda!” The ceiling cracked and exploded into smaller pieces. Whether they fell onto Voldemort and the Malfoy Family she didn’t know, because the elf was already apparating them to safety.

…

“Oh my God, Ana,” exclaimed the Mudblood, horrified, when she took in Ana’s bloody clothes, her bloody hands, a wand and the knife. “What happened?”

“Don’t worry, Hermione. It’s not my blood,” she assured her, smiling tiredly. “As for what happened, Draco confirmed my identity, Bellatrix summoned You-Know-Who through her mark, he came, talked, bought time for you to escape and for me to form a plan of escape. I stabbed him, killed Bellatrix, used Pettigrew as a human shield, cut Draco’s hand to get his wand, and used Bombarda on the ceiling before Dobby apparated us here,” she narrated in a matter-of-fact way.

Everyone was gaping at her, except for the Lovegood girl who didn’t seem shocked or even surprised by what Ana did.

As she showered and the water slowly washed away the grime, dried sweat and blood, Voldemort’s voice and words kept repeating themselves in her head.

_You’re exactly like me. The only difference between you and me is that I use magic to kill and you use muggle means. The result is the same._

She looked at her hands, now free of the blood from before.

_You see me as a monster because of it, but you have become the same kind of monster I have been my entire life._

_Accept it, Ana. The sooner you accept it, the better._

She clenched her hands into fists and squeezed her eyes shut with the locket safely resting around her neck and between her breasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cockney Rhyming Slang Dictionary (in order of appearance):
> 
> Ocean Pearl - girl  
> Butcher's Hook - look  
> Hale and Pace - face  
> Turtle Dove - love  
> Dog's Knob - job  
> Twist and Twirl - girl  
> Bonney Fair - hair  
> Mince Pies - eyes  
> Mars Bar - scar  
> Brown Bread - dead  
> Tutti Frutti - beauty  
> Zig and Zag - shag


	4. A Trip through Memories II: Ana’s Swansong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna helps Ana find the cup and the diadem. Ana learns she's one of the horcruxes as well, confronts Dumbledore's portrait about it and ends up walking to her death by Voldemort's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who enjoy listening to music while reading to immerse yourself more in the words on the screen, here are a few songs that I listened to that would fit the atmosphere of this chapter and the previous one:  
> Survivor (Cover by 2WEI)  
> Rise (Katy Perry)  
> "Akatsuki no Hana" (English Cover: https://youtu.be/2OfCrNqP80o)  
> Goodbye Paititi (Shadow of the Tomb Raider OST)
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter and for a few additional information please refer to the end notes. 🤗

After she showered and dressed, they had dinner, where they talked about his remaining horcruxes. They already seemed to know about Nagini, but he couldn’t comprehend how the Lovegood girl knew about Hufflepuff’s Cup and Ravenclaw’s Diadem. She also knew the locations. Unless this kid was a seer and she somehow saw his horcruxes in visions, he couldn’t understand how someone could just know about things like that when even Dumbledore with years of experience and investigation came up with next to nothing.

Ana asked the elf to infiltrate Gringotts and retrieve the cup from Bellatrix’s vault. The elf disappeared and appeared less than half an hour later with his Cup horcrux. Ana hugged the elf and praised him.

“If Miss Ana wants, Dobby can go to Hogwarts and get the diadem,” offered the elf, but Ana just smiled and refused.

“Thank you for the offer, Dobby, but I don’t want to risk you like that,” she told him gently. “Besides, what we need to destroy these items is at Hogwarts, so, after we recover a bit, I’ll ask you to apparate us inside the castle, alright?”

“Yes, Miss!”

He skimmed over the following few memories where Ana crafted a handful of arrows for her bow. On what looked to be the afternoon of May 1st, Ana and her three friends said goodbye to Ollivander, the older Ginger and the French woman, then apparated away with the elf right onto the corridor in front of the ‘Come & Go Room’.

“Thank you, Dobby,” she said, turning to the elf, “but now I need you to go to some place safe or if you really want to help, make sure you get the remaining students to safety. We should minimise the amount of casualties as much as we can.”

“Dobby will help others get away from danger,” replied the elf, full of determination.

The elf disappeared and the Lovegood girl walked three times back and forth in front of the wall. When the door appeared, they entered a room filled with rows and piles of junk. They let Lovegood lead the way to a small table with a metal globe-like contraption covered in ropes.

She stopped, pointing her finger towards it. “It’s there in the box beneath those ropes.”

Ana walked towards it, moved the ropes to the side, and lifted the lid to reveal the diadem. Carefully she took it out and pocketed it next to the cup. Just as they were about to leave, Draco Malfoy, who had a new wand and a silver hand like Pettigrew, and the heirs of Crabbe and Goyle blocked their way, pointing wands at them.

Ana wasn’t sure how quickly she could draw her bow and arrow before her opponents cast a spell, so when a duel broke out, she hid behind a stack of furniture, took out her weapon of choice and aimed at the trio from her cover.

Crabbe Junior only managed to say ‘Avada’, while pointing at Hermione, before she cut him off by shooting an arrow straight at his chest. She quickly drew another arrow and pointed it at the other two.

“Drop your wands,” she told them imperiously. Draco and Goyle Junior kept aiming their wands at Ana and her companions. “I said drop your wands because if you don’t drop them by the time I count to three you’re going to lose something more than just a hand, Malfoy, because I’ll put an arrow in your throat before you say a single spell.”

Malfoy paled considerably at the threat, but remained firm.

“One …”

They still didn’t make a move to drop their wands.

“Two …”

Still nothing, but as Ana began saying ‘Three’ and she tensed her bowstring even more, both Malfoy and Goyle lifted their hands in a gesture of surrender and slowly put the wands on the floor.

“Now kick them away,” she instructed them, her bow still fully charged. They did as instructed and as soon as the wands were away, she signalled to her companions to stun and tie them.

Ana and company left the room and went to the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, where the entrance to the Chamber was.

So … she knew where it was, went through his mind as he heard her hiss ‘Open’ in parseltongue.

Hearing her speak the snake language did strange things to him. It was strange yet exciting to find out he wasn’t the only parselmouth in Britain (as far as he was aware). Now, he could finally talk to another person in parseltongue and not only to snakes, because as much as it felt unique and exceptional to be the only person to understand such fascinating and misunderstood creatures, it also felt incredibly lonely.

However, he didn’t like the idea of exposing Salazar’s Chamber like that. What of the basilisk inside it?

They slid down the pipe.

As they made their way through the tunnels to the antechamber, Voldemort found it strange to see a collapsed ceiling and leftover debris. ‘What happened here?’ His confusion grew into horror as they climbed through the Chamber entrance and approached the giant statue head. The basilisk. Slytherin’s basilisk was dead. Did Ana do it? How did she even manage to defeat the great beast? When did she do it?

He helplessly observed Ana reach into the snake’s open mouth and pluck out three fangs. He already knew what was about to happen, but that didn’t mean he didn’t dread the moment he would witness a bunch of teenagers destroying his horcruxes with basilisk venom. He couldn’t believe the Heir of Slytherin was defeated by his ancestor’s familiar’s venom.

Was this what they called irony?

Ana handed out a fang to the Mudblood and the Ginger. She then handed the cup to the latter and the diadem to the former. She would apparently take care of the locket.

With his heart in his throat, he saw them kneel and place his soul containers onto the floor. They exchanged looks one last time, before simultaneously raising their arms and plunging the fangs down.

He wanted to look away or skip it, because he didn’t know if he could stomach to witness it, but before Ana touched the locket she was hit by a wave of darkness that enveloped her. She closed her eyes and instinctively crossed her arms in front of her face to protect herself. However, when nothing came, she slowly opened them and saw nothing but darkness.

“Ron?” she called into the dark emptiness. There was no reply. She looked left and right. “Hermione?” She tried again, but again saw and heard nothing. “Luna?” She did a half turn and when she turned around to turn full circle, the darkness had morphed into utter nightmare.

She stood knee-deep in blood, while a sea of blood and bodies stretched before her. The sky was like fire and the Hogwarts castle was in ruins. Her breathing quickened and she began to shake. She called for her friends again, while walking through the sea of blood, bodies and dismembered human parts, each step making the blood rise higher and higher, until she was chest-deep in the bloody sea.

Something caught her hand. She started and yelped in distress. “Help me,” rasped a half-dead fifth-year student with the bottom half of her body missing, floating on the surface.

Ana stared at the girl in utter terror, her eyes filling up with tears. “Oh, God,” she breathed.

“Please … help me … It hurts,” moaned the student hoarsely, but Ana didn’t know how to help her.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, tears rolling down her cheeks, “I don’t know how to help you.”

The student died shortly after and Ana pried her hand from the girl’s fingers. She continued to search for her friends, while other similar pained and hoarse grunts and moans filled her ears. She stumbled upon a first year boy, who looked completely burnt, calling out for his parents.

“Get a hold of yourself, Ana,” she told herself, closing her eyes and covering her ears. “This isn’t real. This _can’t_ be real. This- This is just an illusion. Snap out of it.”

However, when she opened her eyes the blood and the corpses of students, teachers and Death Eaters remained.

“Ana!” The Ginger’s voice called out to her. It sounded distant.

“Ron?” she called back, looking wildly around. “Ron, where are you?”

“Ana, please, help me!”

She followed the voice, moving through blood with hasty and urgent steps, pushing corpses and floating pieces of flesh and debris out of the way.

“I’m scared, Ana. I don’t want to die.”

“Ron!”

“It’s painful, Ana,” came the Mudblood’s voice. “I can’t breathe. Please, Ana, don’t leave me here in pain.”

“Hang on, Ron, Hermione, I’m coming!” she shouted back, her voice cracking, tears streaming down her cheeks, running and stumbling. “I’ll save you both! I won’t let you die!”

Less than a minute later, she found the source of the voices: a large pile of bodies that looked eerily similar to the people she had killed so far on something that looked like a shore. She began digging through them. “I’ve got you, Ron, Hermione. I’ve got you.”

She grabbed what looked to be the Mudblood’s hand and she pulled it from beneath the few corpses that were still covering her. She stumbled backwards onto her backside into the blood, holding her survival knife.

Startled, she looked up, expecting to see her Mudblood friend, but came face to face with herself, covered in other people’s blood.

“Look at what you’ve done,” said her double in a distorted, demonic voice, motioning to the scenery around them.

She breathed heavily, her eyes locked with her mirage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” she mocked her. “You never know anything. You go through life ignorant, causing death and destruction along the way.”

“That’s not true,” she argued in a trembling voice, shaking her head.

“How can you say that when you destroy everyone you touch? You bring nothing but death and suffering to the people around you. To the people you love.”

She covered her ears. “You’re just an illusion,” she whispered to herself. “You’re just a hallucination. You’re not real.”

“You’re a curse, Ana,” continued her twin, unperturbed. “A deadly curse. Incapable of keeping life. First, your parents … then, your godfather … and now, your friends.”

“You’re wrong! Shut up!” she shouted at her counterpart angrily, her face contorted in a furious grimace. “Just shut up!”

She pushed herself off the ground and went for a stab. She cut through her image and hit something solid. There was an inhuman scream coming from her counterpart as she faded. Ana squeezed her eyes shut, not trusting her senses anymore, trying to normalise her breathing and centre herself.

“Ana?” called the Mudblood worried. She slowly opened her eyes and found herself in Salazar’s Chamber, a basilisk fang in her hand and a cracked and destroyed locket in front of her. “Are you okay?”

She looked at her friends and felt immense relief to see them safe. “Yeah,” she breathed calmly. “I’m fine. I just need to rest for a few minutes, that’s all.”

A couple of minutes later, the Lovegood girl blanked out; her gaze lost in the distance. When she came to, she said, “You-Know-Who is going to kill Professor Snape,” she said, her usual dreamy voice trembling and grim.

“What? Why?”

“He believes Professor Snape has the Elder wand’s allegiance.”

“Where does he intend to kill him?” Ana wanted to know. She may not have liked Snape terribly, especially after delivering the deadly blow to Dumbledore the previous year, but even the mean Potions Professor didn’t deserve to die over a wand.

“The Shrieking Shack.”

“Then what are we waiting for, let’s go. We have to save him.” Ana immediately began moving towards the exit, but Lovegood caught her wrist, stopping her.

“Ana …”

She turned to the girl. “What?” she asked impatiently.

“You can’t save him,” she told her gently.

“What do you mean I can’t save him?”

“If you want to learn the truth about Professor Snape, yourself and your connection to You-Know-Who, then you must let him die.”

Ana gaped at her. “Let him die? I know he’s been a mean bastard all these years, but how can you ask me to just let him die?” said Ana, baffled. “Besides, if you know something, Luna, you should tell me yourself. This isn’t the time to be keeping secrets.”

“Sometimes one has to see and hear information for themselves to really believe,” said Lovegood enigmatically.

Ana looked conflicted, but ended up freeing her wrist and leaving the Chamber with Ginger and Mudblood following her. Just before they climbed up the pipe to the bathroom, the trio silenced their steps and disillusioned themselves to get through the battlefield undetected.

Ana’s vision might have been an exaggerated illusion, but the sight before them as they entered the courtyard came very close to it. There was utter chaos, accompanied by never-ending piles of debris, corpses lying scattered on the ground, the injured, creatures from the forest, giants, dementors; spell sparks were flying left and right, fire was illuminating the darkness of the night.

Ana forced herself not to get involved and continue her way to the Shrieking Shack. There, they hid in a half-dilapidated closet and waited. Shortly after, Voldemort came and all three tensed, holding their breaths.

“ _How long before I can eat?_ ” wondered Nagini, coiled around Voldemort torso and shoulders. “ _I’m hungry, you know._ ”

“ _Soon, Nagini,_ ” he hissed, caressing her head. “ _Very soon. I only need to gain ownership of the Elder wand, send a message to the Potter girl, kill her and once this war is over, you can eat as much as you like._ ”

“ _Tom, I believe your definition of very soon is very different from mine, because what you just said sounded like it will take a while,_ ” complained Nagini.

He chuckled in a hissing manner. “ _It will only take an hour, two at most. How is that a while?_ ”

“ _Why can’t you just let me eat the one you want me to kill right now?_ ”

“ _Because by the time you would manage to swallow him whole I could have killed Ana,_ ” retorted Voldemort.

“ _Hey!_ ” said Nagini indignantly. “ _You try swallowing an entire adult human being. It’s not simple, you know. It takes time and effort to get all that meat and grease into my stomach without exploding._ ”

“ _Then, would you prefer if I cut the corpses you want to eat into smaller, more manageable pieces?_ ” offered Voldemort.

“ _That would be very nice, yes,_ ” said Nagini excitedly.

Shortly after, Snape appeared and Ana had to force herself into doing nothing again. When Nagini struck the first time at his throat, Ana covered her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut and turned away. She couldn’t watch, knowing she was letting this happen.

She heard Snape hit the floor and struggle for air.

‘Come on, leave!’ she urged Voldemort mentally, itching to leave the safety of the closet and help Snape. ‘Leave already, dammit!’

As soon as Voldemort’s footsteps grew fainter, she left her hiding place, immediately revealed herself, and knelt beside her Potions Professor, who had blood coming out of the gash in his throat.

“You’ll be fine, Professor. I’ll help you. I’m sorry I let this happen,” she whispered brokenly as tears muddled her vision. She began searching his pockets to see if he had an antidote somewhere. He caught her wrist to get her attention.

“No … use … Potter,” he choked out, his face growing more ashen by the second.

“Weren’t you the one who said you could put a stopper to death in our first year?” she argued, her voice cracking. “Well now would be the right time to demonstrate that, you mean bastard.”

“I’m … sorry,” he let out in a strangled and broken whisper. “For … every … thing.”

She pressed her trembling lips together and sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. He tugged on her wrist again, but she had a hard time looking at him.

“Look  ... at … me.” She did as told, her eyes red from crying. He lifted his hand and used the back of his fingers to wipe her tears away.

“Take … them,” he choked out, pointing to his own eyes.

Ana was confused. “Take what, Professor?”

“My … memories.”

The Mudblood produced an empty vial and handed it to Ana, who then held the vial against the corner of his eye and caught the silvery strands that came out. 

As the last strand slid into the vial, Snape closed his eyes, after taking his final breath. Ana corked the vial, but remained by Snape’s side, sobbing into his unmoving chest. After her sobs settled a bit, she straightened herself, a determined look on her face.

“These memories better be worth all this, otherwise I will never forgive myself for this,” she said hoarsely. She wiped her remaining tears away and sniffed, before standing up and leaving the Shack.

He fast forwarded the memory to where Ana entered Dumbledore’s office and entered the Pensieve. He skimmed through Snape’s childhood and Hogwarts years. He took some more time to study Snape’s betrayal after he decided to target Lily Potter, but what interested him was the moment where Dumbledore revealed to Severus that Ana was his horcrux.

“Severus, I want you to reveal something to Ana Potter when Voldemort will be at his weakest,” said Dumbledore gravely.

“And what is that?” drawled Snape.

“That for Voldemort to die, she has to die with him.”

Severus’ eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because a piece of Voldemort’s soul has been living inside her since the moment his Killing Curse rebounded that night in Godric’s Hollow,” explained Dumbledore calmly. ”And the only way to destroy it is to kill Ana, but Voldemort himself must do it.”

“You had me protect her all these years, only so she could die at the right moment?” said Severus, flabbergasted. “You’ve been raising her like a pig for slaughter.”

“Don’t tell me you started to care for the girl, Severus, when you’ve shown nothing but disdain towards her for simply being James Potter’s daughter,” chuckled Dumbledore darkly. “Besides, what is the livelihood of one girl compared to the livelihood of thousands?”

“It’s not just one girl,” said Severus in a strained voice. “It’s Lily’s girl.”

“And that makes all the difference to you, doesn’t it?” mocked Dumbledore.

The memory ended and Ana came out of the Pensieve, feeling completely numb.

Voldemort on the other hand was fuming. He cursed Dumbledore. How dare he trick him into destroying his own horcrux? As much as it bothered him to know Ana was responsible for most of his horcrux destruction, if one didn’t count the fact that Dumbledore, Ginger and Mudblood all destroyed one, she was still his horcrux for most of her life, guarding, protecting a part of his soul with her very being.

He cursed himself as well, for not considering the option or the real reason why their minds and feelings were connected. He wasn’t aware of Ana’s ability to understand and speak to snakes. No one informed him. He was sure that … if he knew that particular piece of information, he would have looked further into the matter. He would have figured out she was his horcrux at some point and then he would have taken her away from Dumbledore and the rest of the world and keep her someplace hidden and safe, where only he could visit and no harm could ever touch her. She would have struggled and complained, but she would have gotten used to her circumstances eventually and accepted her new life.

He returned his attention to Ana and watched her walk slowly towards Dumbledore’s portrait, eyes haunted. She picked up something metal and threw it at the portrait, waking it up.

Dumbledore jerked awake. “Ana?” he said carefully. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Professor Snape’s memories,” she said numbly. “And among them, there was one that stuck out the most.”

Dumbledore’s confused expression morphed into that of realisation. “You know?”

“That I’m his horcrux? Yes, I know,” she said with fake light-heartedness and a forced smile. “I also know that for him to die, I have to perish as well.”

A heavy silence stretched between them. “I’m sorry it turned out like this,” said Dumbledore gravely. “I wish there was another way.”

Ana’s fake smile fell away. “How could you look me in the eye for so many years, knowing what I was, and keep it away from me? How could you say you cared about me to my face, yet at the same time plot my death behind my back?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your childhood.”

“My childhood? What childhood? I never had one! The Dursleys made sure of that! Voldemort made sure of that! You made sure of that!” she yelled at the portrait with a hateful glare. “So don’t give me that bullshit, because I don’t believe you,” she continued in a softer, yet still cutting tone. “I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth, because all you’ve ever done is lie to me, manipulate me, brainwash me until I was ready and willing to go to the slaughter house ... Like a pig. Until I was so far gone in my loyalty to you that if you said to throw myself off a cliff for the greater good, I would have done it. That if you told me to jump out of a window or to cut myself open to make Voldemort vulnerable, I would have done it without a second thought.”

She paused to calm herself and to reign in her tears.

“You could have told me I was a horcrux when you told me about the prophecy in my fifth year, but you chose not to,” she continued, once she had recovered her cool. “You could have told me about me being a horcrux in my sixth year during one of the many memory sessions, where you first introduced the concept of the horcrux to me … but again, you chose not to.” She sighed. “At this point, I’m wondering if the prophecy you told me is even real, or if you twisted it to suit your needs in this war, which quite frankly you started back when you shunned Tom Riddle instead of offering him guidance, understanding and protection. If Voldemort exists, it is because of you and all the magical and non-magical people who have treated him like plague and scum of this planet. If people are dying, if this mess is even a thing, it’s because of you and your actions.”

Voldemort was speechless. He didn’t expect her to defend him. He didn’t expect her to understand, after all, no one ever did.

“If it makes you feel better,” Dumbledore spoke softly in his infuriating grandfatherly voice, “about why I never told you about the possibility in person, it is because even I never knew for certain if you are his horcrux. I still don’t really know for sure.”

Ana let out an incredulous and mocking snort at the admission. “Then it’s even worse than I thought,” she said, with a pained smile. “You want me to lay down my life on pure speculation.”

“It might be a guess on my part, Ana, but not to brag, my guesses are usually right,” he told her and Voldemort wanted to pick up the portrait and chuck it into the fireplace and set it alight.

“So, we’re playing Russian roulette now?” she scoffed. “Just that instead of me holding the gun with a bullet in one of the cylinder chambers to my brain, Voldemort is the one holding and pressing the trigger. You’re counting on that minuscule chance I might survive the Killing Curse a second time by, as Professor McGonagall would say, sheer dumb luck. Because that is how I have managed to survive until this year. Pure luck. No skill or practice.”

She went silent, breathing shakily, trying to control her shivers and anger that was swelling and swirling inside her like a hurricane.

“How entitled do you have to be to play with other people’s emotions and livelihoods? You did it with me, with Professor Snape, with Tom Riddle and plenty of others. You let me, the Order and the public believe Professor Snape was a traitor of the worst kind, when in reality _you_ asked him to kill you; _you_ had him act as a spy for you and Voldemort, and _you_ placed him under an oath before you even offered help to my parents. I suppose my mental connection with Voldemort also played a key role in you keeping me in the dark with all this information, but just because you stopped Grindelwald, it does not make you neither a legend nor a god. It does not give you the right to decide for me, just like how Riddle’s circumstances and experiences don’t give Voldemort the right to slaughter innocents.”

There was a long beat of pregnant silence between Ana and Dumbledore.

 “What do you plan to do now that you know the truth?” asked Dumbledore in a wary tone. As if fearing, she wouldn’t go through with her death.

She chuckled hollowly. “Don’t worry; I’ll go to my death when Voldemort calls for me. I’ll let him kill me. I’ll die so that thousands may live full and happy lives, have families, jobs, friends. But before I leave, I want to tell you a few things.”

She walked up to the wall, took the portrait down and slowly walked towards the fireplace. She took out Draco’s wand and cast ‘Incendio’ at it.

“Ana, what are you doing?” He sounded wary and fearful.

“You know … while I was hunting horcruxes I learnt how to hunt a few other things as well,” she spoke in a detached voice. She reached for her knife and unsheathed it.

Dumbledore’s eyes opened in alarm.

“I learnt how to hunt animals, small and slightly bigger.” She examined the blade. “And I also learnt how to hunt humans.” She turned her blank look at him. “Would you like to know how many people I’ve killed?”

Dumbledore said nothing.

“Eighteen. However, I suppose nineteen is more accurate. I always seem to forget about Quirrell for some reason.” She sounded empty and unaffected. She sighed. “I don’t know what awaits me after death, but if there is some sort of heaven and hell, I expect to go to hell for murder just like I hope you’re there for deceit, plotting murder and just generally doing extremely dubious things in the name of ‘the greater good’. I’ll probably join you soon, but until I do … burn in hell.”

She slowly cut through the canvas diagonally from left to right and then again from right to left, until she started slashing at the canvas with uncontrollable anger, and destroyed the entire portrait in the process.

Heaving, she took a few moments to catch her breath and collect her thoughts, before throwing what remained of the painting into the fire.

She watched the flames consume the painting for a while, until she dropped to her knees, her breath and lips trembling, tears collecting in her eyes. She let out a loud sob and lay down on the floor onto her side, crying loudly and freely, hands clutching her chest. It hurt. It hurt so much that she couldn’t breathe. It felt like she was already dying, with every painful intake of air that she took. Instead of soothing her, the oxygen just burned her lungs, her throat. She even found it difficult to swallow without her throat muscles constricting or the saliva feeling like rough sand was being force-fed to her.

“E-Everything was a lie,” she hiccoughed, fighting for air. “M-My entire life was one big lie … N-Nothing but a farce.” Streaks of tears covered her cheeks. “I t-thought –” A hiccough. “I thought I would finally be able to live my life after the war, o-only to find out I was never meant to survive past it.”

Tears continued to wet her face for a while. Voldemort had knelt next to her head, attempting to caress away the tears, the locks of hair that clung to her forehead and cheeks, the lightning scar on her forehead. The place where his soul had probably entered her body.

Was knowing she was his horcrux really that horrible? If he had known, she would have been the most precious person to him in the entire universe.

Yes, it would have mostly been due to the soul piece inside her, but if there were any person he would have chosen to safeguard a part of him inside them, it would have been her. It would have always been her. Especially after witnessing her survival skills. He would have lavished her with the best food, clothes, shoes, bed, mansion, jewellery, skincare, hair and other beauty products. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of love, romantic and sexual, but he would have tried his damnedest to shower her with care, attention and affection. He owed her that much for sheltering his soul for sixteen years of her life and currently giving it its own body, magic and personality.

His own hissing-like voice brought him back to the memory in front of him.

“I am speaking directly to you, Ana,” echoed the voice inside her mind. “If you surrender in the next half an hour, I will call off my forces with no further casualties. However … if you don’t surrender on your own, I will kill one person every minute, until you decide to show up in the Forbidden Forest. I have captured at least twenty people on your side. If you don’t believe me you can wait until the time runs out and I will deliver the first corpse in the first minute of tardiness. I’ll start with Mudbloods.”

She slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, her arms weak. She looked for something sturdy to use as support to lift herself. Before leaving, she discarded all of her weapons.

Defenceless and numb, she walked through corridors to get to the Entrance Hall. Just as she was about to leave through the door, her Mudblood friend called after her.

“Ana, wait!” Both her and Ginger hurried to reach her. “Where are you going?”

She directed her lost look at her friend and said, “Voldemort wants me to come to the Forbidden Forest … I’m going to him so he can kill me.”

“Are you mad?” said Ginger incredulously. “Why would you let him kill you right at the endgame? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Did something happen as you were viewing the memories?” inquired the Mudblood, when she saw how dispirited she looked, her eyes still red and puffy from crying.

“I’m one of them, Hermione.” The Mudblood’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth. Ginger looked confused. “I think you know what that means,” continued Ana, disheartened.

The Mudblood’s eyes began to water as she hugged Ana. “Oh, Ana,” she sniffed.

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” interjected Ginger.

“I’m a horcrux, Ron,” she said, completely hollow. “A piece of You-Know-Who’s soul lives inside me and the only way to defeat him is to kill me.”

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, wide-eyed.

“There has to be another way,” sobbed the Mudblood.

“We don’t have the time to look for alternatives, Hermione,” sighed Ana. “He has hostages, muggleborn students most probably and he will kill one every minute if I don’t show up in half an hour. Now, this time has shrunk to approximately twenty minutes.”

“So what,” prompted the Mudblood, sniffing, “you just want us to accept that our best friend is about to walk to her death and not do anything to save her?”

“I was never meant to live past the war, Hermione,” she told her tiredly. “I was never meant to live long enough to fall in love, have a husband, have children, a job. My only purpose in life was to survive long enough to make him vulnerable and die when there would be no other horcruxes left. But you will live. You will marry and have kids. You will get jobs and maybe … just maybe you could name a baby girl after me.” A subdued smile graced her face.

“Maybe if you tell You-Know-Who what you are when you meet him, he might decide to spare you,” suggested the Mudblood, refusing to accept defeat.

“You would be willing to let him win, just so that I wouldn’t have to die?” snorted Ana in bafflement.

“Yes,” she said, determined. “We could negotiate the terms of his victory and our surrender.”

“You really think he would listen to my conditions of surrender if I tell him I’m his horcrux?” asked Ana incredulously.

“Well, yes.”

“The moment he would confirm I’m his horcrux and that five have been destroyed, he would most likely abduct me and lock me up some place only he would know about, where I would be forced to waste away for all eternity like a doll, and between living like an object and death, I think I prefer death.”

“So … that’s it then?” questioned Ginger.

“I’m afraid so.”

They hugged her one last time, before she went to the Forbidden Forest.

…

As she made her way towards the meeting spot, she tried to calm her nerves. She was never particularly religious, but in her last moments, she clung to the idea of afterlife in whatever form. The idea of reincarnation and the immortal soul provided solace, but it was the uncertainty that kept filling her with dread.

What if there was nothing but darkness and void? What if when she drew her last breath that truly was the end?

She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter. Once she was dead, it wouldn’t matter anyway and maybe in death, she would finally find the peace she couldn’t in life. Maybe in death, she could finally rest from all the running, hiding and fighting. No more suffering … no more pain.

“I knew you would come,” grinned Voldemort, when he saw her. The hostages were bound and gagged, each with a Death Eater pointing their wand at them.

“Let them go,” she said calmly, referring to the captured students.

He chuckled darkly. “All in due time, Ana. First, put your hands in the air so I can see them and come closer. I want to make sure you’re not hiding any more knives beneath your shirt.”

She did as told without protesting. Wand pointed at her, he lifted the hem of her shirt and inspected her waistline. When he didn’t find neither knife nor the wand she stole, he tsked in disappointment.

“No weapons? I confess myself disappointed in you, Ana. What happened to your will to live, to the fire you’ve shown at the manor?”

Ana was growing impatient, because more time passed, more nervous she grew and it was getting harder to accept death. “Will you stop stalling and kill me already?” she snarled at him. “You wanted to kill me? Well, what are you waiting for?”

His smirk disappeared and he grabbed her roughly by the hair and pulled on it. “Oh, don’t you worry. I _will_ kill you, but after you dared to stab me, simply killing you wouldn’t be enough,” he snarled back, pressing his face close to hers, his breath colliding with her skin and glaring hatefully at her. “Maybe a few rounds of the Cruciatus Curse and other torture spells, until you beg me to kill you.”

‘No, please, anything but that,’ she thought as panic gripped her stomach and chest in a vice grip. “If you’re already going to kill me,” she said carefully, “then I would appreciate it if you could make it swift and as painless as possible.”

He huffed. “We’ll see about that,” he whispered threateningly. “Depends on how good you are at begging and how generous I feel.” His eyes narrowed. “Kneel,” he ordered, his hand still gripping her hair. 

She slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of him.

He grinned wickedly and regarded her shrewdly. “Now beg me to kill you,” he told her imperiously. “Show me just how desperately you want to die.”

She swallowed hard. Then, took a deep breath, looked at Voldemort and said, “Please, Voldemort. Please, kill me. Show mercy and put an end to the farce that has been my entire life.”

He grinned manically, pressing his wand to her temple, and said, “With pleasure.” He didn’t cast the spell immediately. He let the seconds pass by at an agonisingly slow pace. She squeezed her eyes shut to make it bearable. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, she finally heard him say, “Avada Kedavra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware Ana said she destroyed the majority of Voldemort's horcruxes herself, implying she took care of the locket, the diadem and the cup herself, but in reality, she mostly said that to protect her friends who also had a hand in the destruction of the horcruxes mentioned in this chapter. I'm also not sure what you think of Luna using her seer powers to guide Ana through the final stretch, but, since I already took the liberty to change the canon of the final book and a few other plot points from before the final book, this made sense in my head.
> 
> As for the scene with the locket taking on the form of her worst fears and mentally tormenting her, it was directly inspired by a particular scene in a DLC mission in Shadow of the Tomb Raider "The Nightmare" where Lara is also experimenting a series of hallucinations caused by a substance called 'The White Breath'. and there is a section where Lara is in the graveyard trying to get to her friend only to confront her own self who is mocking her. Here is the link to one of the many videos with all the DLC cutscenes if you're interested in watching the entire nightmare sequence and the lead up to it (Shadow of the Tomb Raider - The Nightmare DLC - All Cutscenes: https://youtu.be/mWcP3PEbWGs), but if you only want to see the graveyard scene, here's the link to it as well (Shadow of the Tomb Raider - The Nightmare DLC Cutscene: https://youtu.be/CwTWbvjClz4).


	5. A Trip through Memories III: Meeting with Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana meets with Death, learns she is his 'Mistress' and many other things. All the while, she's bonding with the soul shard, much to Voldemort's embarrassment, envy and confusion.

Everything went dark for a while, until she opened her eyes again and found herself completely naked with nothing but blinding whiteness all around her.

“Hello?” she called out carefully. Her voice got lost in the vast empty white space around her. “Is anyone here?” She tried again, but received no answer. “Voldemort?” Again, no answer.

She slowly rose to her feet and started walking around. She didn’t know where she was or where she was headed, but she kept walking. She had to arrive somewhere eventually. After several minutes, there in the distance, she could begin to distinguish forms. She picked up her pace and as she was getting closer, she recognised the building and objects inside it as King’s Cross train station.

However, it was completely deserted. At least, she thought it was, until she heard rustling and raspy breathing.

She tried to determine the source and as she was approaching a bench, it grew in volume. She stopped next to it and knelt to look under it. There was a baby with long, spidery limbs, a deformed face, his entire body covered in cuts and blood. It reminded her of how Voldemort looked at the graveyard before the ritual.

“Voldemort?” She called his name softly, gently. “Can you hear me?” His baby form continued to shiver and breathe with difficulty, occasionally letting out a whimper. She reached out her hand slowly towards him to touch him. “Are you cold? In pain?” she tried.

When her skin touched his, an onslaught of different negative emotions washed over her: pain, fear, rejection, sadness, anger and hatred … so much hatred it threatened to overwhelm and drown her. Together with the emotions, she could hear voices talking and screaming over each other, speaking in broken, unconnected sentences that didn’t make much sense to her. Despite that, she felt for him, mostly compassion and concern for his well-being, she even shed tears in his stead, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

It was strange, since, for as long as he could remember, no one had ever showed him sympathy, compassion or concern. Everyone always judged him. There was always something wrong with him. Being a calm child that didn’t cry much was a bad sign. His quiet demeanour and sharp look was the sign of the devil. When he started doing fantastical things, he was nothing but a demon, a monster, a freak. Even at Hogwarts, especially at the beginning, everyone looked down upon him, insulting him, bullying him. Even in the wizarding world, his ability to speak with snakes was seen as a taboo, as something to be afraid and frowned upon.

He watched her gently wrap her arms around the physical manifestation of his soul shard inside her and pull him from under the bench and close to her bare chest, ignoring the blood that spread over her hands and body. She wished for something soft and a bit of water to clean him and as soon as she wished for that, a bowl with warm water and the softest towel imaginable appeared next to her.

After soaking the soft, fluffy towel in the water, she gently began pressing the wet fabric against his cuts to wash away the blood and prevent infections. As she washed him, she sang what seemed to be a nursery rhyme.

“One, two, three, four, five, once I caught a fish alive. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, then, I let it go again. Why did you let it go? Because it bit my finger so. Which finger did it bite? This little finger on my right.”

When she finished cleaning him of blood, she showered him with feather light kisses to heal his cuts. Wherever her lips touched his welts and cuts, they slowly started to close and disappear, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin. Even his deformed limbs and facial features disappeared. Instead, there was a normal baby with black hair and brown eyes, with slightly chubby cheeks and limbs.

The soul shard stopped shivering and whimpering. Instead, it looked like it was at peace, content for the first time in its existence as Ana slowly healed his pain with her affections and care.

Clean and healed, she wrapped him in another soft and fluffy towel and brought him close to her chest again. She stood up and began rocking him left to right in slow movements. As she moved gently, she resumed her singing.

“Hey diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon and little dog laughed to see such sport and the dish ran away with the spoon … Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again … Itsy Bitsy spider went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sunshine and dried up all the rain and the Itsy Bitsy spider went up the spout again.”

She placed a kiss on his head and began humming a lullaby.

Voldemort simply watched, conflicted, at the scene before him, not really understanding how Ana, who he had hurt so much, was still able to move past the animosity between them, care for him, and show him kindness no one had ever showed him in his entire life.

“Ah, I see you’re here with the soul shard.” The now already familiar unearthly voice brought him out of his musings. Ana started and turned abruptly and came face to face with the tall, cloaked skeletal figure of Death.

She took a step back and brought the soul shard closer to her chest in a protective gesture.

Death saw her uneasiness and said, “Please, do not be afraid. I do not mean you any harm … or the soul shard in your arms.”

“Who are you?” she asked, still tense.

“I am Death and you, Ana Potter, are my Mistress,” he said with a monotonous voice, doing a little bow at the end.

Her eyes widened. “Death?” she repeated incredulously. “I mean … I suppose you look like it, but then, that must mean I’m really dead.”

“Well your body left in the Realm of the Living is,” answered Death, “but your soul is not dead, it is merely stuck in limbo … for now.”

“Limbo … so that’s what this is?” she said, looking around.

“Yes.”

She inspected her surroundings for a while longer, then, turned her attention to the skeletal, hooded figure again. “You said I’m your Mistress,” she began carefully. Death nodded. “I don’t think I know what you mean by that. I’m no one’s Mistress.”

He chuckled deep and low. “Oh, but you are,” he assured her, amused. “You see, when living beings, especially people, began to increase in numbers, my workload became quite heavy and my wife and kids didn’t appreciate that.”

“You’re married?” exclaimed Ana, gaping at him, wondering how that was even possible. “And with kids?”

“Yes, I’m married to my twin sister, Life, and we have three adorable triplets, two boys, Chaos and Destruction, and a girl, Peace. And they in turn are married to each other and have their own set of quadruplets, two girls, Harmony and Hope, and two boys, Karma and Fear.”

Ana slowly nodded, speechless.

“As I was saying. My workload increased, my wife didn’t appreciate it, so, I had to find a way to make it more bearable for me and have enough time to spend quality time with my family. Therefore, I started searching for an assistant,” said Death nonchalantly. “However, I couldn’t make just anyone my assistant. They had to prove themselves worthy, because the work I do is very important and complicated, especially, when it comes to people. Because, unlike plants and animals, I have to look at each person’s life to see what kind of person they were and, then, based on that, sort them into four categories: the unwaveringly good, overall good but capable of evil, overall bad but capable of good and the unwaveringly bad. Once I have them sorted, I have to decide which people to reincarnate and which people to cast into the Void.”

Ana simply looked in awe.

“Therefore, a responsible person was necessary. Another necessary personality trait was having a good moral compass to distinguish right from wrong, good from bad, but also someone who would understand that someone good can also do evil things and that someone bad can also do good things.”

“Can you give me an example?” she prompted him.

“Hm,” he said pensively, “let me think … Ah, yes. There was once a man who was executed for killing six men in cold blood. The authorities knew the reason behind the murders, but they followed their society laws and sentenced him to death, simply because killing no matter the circumstances is bad. Prior to those six murders, the man was a law-abiding citizen, who liked to help others. He was a good person. He had a promising career and a beautiful girlfriend, whom he loved dearly. One night, they were just returning from their date, when a street gang attacked them. They incapacitated him and raped his girlfriend.”

“That’s horrible,” breathed Ana, horrified at the story, still gently rocking Voldemort’s shard.

“Traumatised, his girlfriend took her own life and the man, filled with righteous rage, sadness and impotency for not being able to prevent the tragedy from happening, decided to take justice into his own hands. He returned to the area, where the crime took place, hunted down the street gang members and killed them in cold blood. After that, he turned himself over to the police and confessed his crime.”

‘Idiot’, thought Voldemort. ‘Why would someone go out of their way to kill just to turn themselves to the authorities?’

Death continued his narration. “Similarly, there was once a man, who for as long as he could remember lived a life of a criminal. His parents were criminals; his relatives were criminals, so, it was expected of him to be a criminal as well. They trained him to steal, to kill and for a while, he didn’t question the lifestyle he was living. The lives of others didn’t matter as long as he got the money he was owed and if someone tried to double-cross him or simply irritated him, he sent a bullet to their forehead.”

‘Now, that’s the kind of person I like,’ thought Voldemort. ‘Reminds me of me.’

Ana instead looked horrified at the kind of person the second man seemed to be.

“It wasn’t until he almost lost his life that he realised its value. Falling in love with his nurse helped him too and while he still blackmailed people for money, he learnt to be patient and mindful of other people’s circumstances. He learnt not to pull the trigger as soon as someone got on his nerves and despite most of his money coming from criminal activity, he still made sure to donate large sums of money to different institutions from hospitals, orphanages, shelters, to schools anonymously. When he had his own kids, he made sure to raise them to be honest people and if his kids still decided to choose the life of crime, he wanted them to be the kind of criminals who despite doing bad things, still had a sense of morality.”

‘Wow’, was all it went through Ana’s thoughts as Death came to the end of the story.

Voldemort on the other hand grimaced. ‘What a waste of potential,’ he thought. ‘I suppose near-death experiences change the way you think about certain things, but why did he have to go and fall in love? What good did love do for him? It only made him soft.’

“Upon their deaths,” continued Death, “I categorised the first man as overall good but capable of evil under stressful and traumatising situations and the second man as overall bad but capable of good when properly encouraged. I let both of their souls reincarnate after serving a period of atonement by serving as other people’s guardian angels. I would expect the same kind of judgment from my assistant.”

“And did you have many assistants so far?”

Death sighed, his shoulders hunched. “Only one, Ignotus Peverell, your ancestor.”

Her eyes widened and Voldemort’s interest was piqued. “My ancestor … was your assistant?” she repeated, having difficulty processing that piece of information.

“After a lot of searching, I stumbled upon the Peverell brothers: Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus,” Death started elaborating. “Intrigued to see what kind of people they were, I created an obstacle course for them to get through. First, I approached them as a homeless beggar, asking for a bit of water and food. The elder two grimaced and ignored me, while the youngest took out his own water and piece of bread and gave me half of it.”

“The second time I arranged a meeting between the brothers and me, I disguised myself as an old woman, trying to sell flowers and handmade jewellery. This time only the eldest closed the house door in my face, while Cadmus and Ignotus decided to buy flowers and jewellery, Cadmus to give them to his girlfriend and propose to her, and Ignotus to make their house beautiful.”

“During the third meeting, I pretended to be an injured but wealthy person. The eldest two took advantage of me and my state and robbed me, the eldest robbed me of the money and the middle brother robbed me of my shoes and clothes.”

Ana was horrified. ‘Who in their right mind would rob an injured and unconscious person?’ she thought. ‘It’s not as if Antioch and Cadmus lacked money or clothes since they were wealthy themselves.’ Voldemort had to agree with her assessment.

“Ignotus, instead, helped me get up and escorted me to the village doctor. When I ‘recovered’, I offered to compensate his help with money, but he declined it. I offered to repay him in any kind of way he wanted, but again, he denied it, saying health and well-being of a person should never be measured in wealth or other material things for it was priceless.”

‘At least Ignotus showed sympathy and common sense to help a fellow human being,’ thought Ana. ‘I really like him.’

Voldemort simply thought Ignotus was an idiot for not using his help to get at least one favour out of Death. It didn’t have to be material.

“For my final test for the brothers,” Death continued narrating, “I manipulated one of their walks by steering them towards a turbulent river where many people have died, trying to cross it. When they created a bridge with their magic, I revealed myself to them as Death and congratulated them on outsmarting me. As a reward, I asked each of the brothers what they wanted.”

“Antioch wanted to be the strongest, the most powerful wizard in the world, therefore, I fashioned for him the Elder wand. Cadmus, who had lost his wife in childbirth a few months back, wanted something that would bring back the dead. Unfortunately for him, I have already put her soul through the reincarnation process, thus it was impossible for him to get her back. However, I fashioned for him a stone that was able to create and project illusions and named it ‘Resurrection Stone’. Ignotus, wary of my intentions, asked for something that would protect him from me, until he was ready to face me again. I had already decided I liked Ignotus and decided to humour him and gave him the Invisibility Cloak.”

Here, Ignotus had somewhat redeemed himself for his previous stupidity in Voldemort’s eyes by doing the smart thing and try to hide himself from Death. If he were him, he would have asked for immortality, but, oh well.

“When all three had their gifts, I jokingly called them ‘Masters of Death’, but Antioch and Cadmus believed it and went around spreading the word of their newly gained title. Antioch’s arrogance and lust for power ended up being his downfall. I had already seen the day he would die on my _Upcoming Death_ list. I waited for a rival to slit Antioch’s throat, then, claimed his soul, and cast it into the Void for there was nothing redeemable about Antioch, who even in death refused to repent for his deeds and even sneered at the prospect of protecting someone who wasn’t himself.”

“Cadmus’ inability to reconcile with his wife’s death was his downfall. I knew the date of his death, so, I waited for him to hang himself, before dragging him to limbo. There, I apologised for tricking him with the stone and explained what happened to his wife’s soul. Knowing he could reincarnate and meet her in his new life, he accepted and repented for his sins and I assigned him to be the guardian angel of his orphaned child until his son was old enough to marry and have his own family. Then, after he completed the role, I had him wait to reunite with his wife’s soul in the afterlife, before reincarnating both.”

‘Ugh,’ grimaced Voldemort, ‘again with love.’

“Ignotus, on the other hand, hadn’t appeared on my _Upcoming Death_ list for several decades and when he did, I tracked him down and saw him lying in his bed. I waited for the inhabitants to go to sleep, before revealing myself to him. Unlike many others, he looked at peace even when faced with death for he had come to accept it as a natural part of all living beings.”

‘Idiot!’ thought Voldemort in frustration. ‘Just because it’s natural and normal to die that shouldn’t mean you should be fine with it!’

“I claimed his soul and had a similar conversation with him, where I explained my situation to him and told him I had chosen him as my ‘Master’ and assistant. He didn’t mind as long as he was allowed to look over his descendants in his free time. However, after five centuries, he grew tired of the paperwork and the ‘afterlife’, asked to be mortal again and reincarnated. Reluctantly, I let him go, and I have been without an assistant for the last three hundred years approximately.”

He approached Ana and extended his skeletal hand towards his shard to caress it.

“I had considered giving Tom Marvolo Riddle a chance since I really liked him, especially as a kid,” mused Death affectionately or as affectionate as he could sound with his deep and hollow voice.

Voldemort couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Death liked him? He wanted him as his ‘Master’ and assistant? Then why didn’t he give him the job?!

“He was cute and when he wasn’t frowning or glaring, he looked like my daughter, Peace.”

Voldemort would deny it until the end of the world and the universe that being called cute as a child and being compared to Death’s daughter made his cheeks heat up.

Death sighed dejectedly. “But then, he went and mutilated his soul, and made it impossible for him to be the ‘Master of Death’.”

“You wanted to give Voldemort the job as your assistant?!” exclaimed Ana in disbelief. He and Ignotus couldn’t have been more different personalities, and Voldemort agreed.

“He wasn’t always bad you know,” said Death in his defence. “Other people made him like that with how they treated him and even though he would fall between unwaveringly bad and overall bad capable of doing good when properly encouraged, I have a soft spot for him and I can’t really be angry with him especially since he’s been unwittingly helping me with reaping souls.”

Ana didn’t know what to think or say when told that some, if not most, of the people Voldemort has killed over the course of his life were actually meant to die around the time they did and that Voldemort just helped Death by killing them.

“Sometimes he gets a bit overzealous like Chaos and Destruction and creates even more work for me, but I can’t be mad at him.” He sighed dejectedly, caressing the shard’s chubby cheeks. The shard in turn snuggled closer to Ana’s chest and continued sleeping. “It’s a shame that he fears me so, though I probably have myself to blame for scaring him as a child.”

“What happened?” inquired Ana, filled with curiosity.

“As usual, I was paying attention to the Peverell descendants, looking for a candidate to be my assistant. I knew about Tom being born in an orphanage. I tasked one of the souls on probation period to look over him when I was busy with other things, but every now and then, I would check in with him just to see how he was faring. One time, he was about six I think, I went to visit and saw him lying in bed, sick with a fever. He reminded me of my baby girl whenever she gets a fever, because of the wars between humans. So, I tried to offer some comfort, but instead, when he opened his eyes, he was so terrified, I never dared show myself before him, because, while amusing, his fear of me is also very unhealthy.”

‘So that wasn’t a hallucination?’ thought Voldemort. ‘I really saw Death standing over me trying to touch my forehead. Well, what did he expect my reaction would be? I was sick with pneumonia; I thought I was on the verge of dying! And I didn’t want to die alone like a bloody stray dog! I still don’t want to die.’

Ana smiled sadly at Death and at the shard. Then, she brought him to her lips and kissed the shard’s head.

“And how exactly does one become your assistant?” she asked Death.

“Well, they have to meet four conditions. One, they have to be of Peverell descent, so both you and Tom fulfil this requirement: you for being the descendant of Ignotus and Tom for being the descendant of Cadmus. Two, they have to come in possession of all three of my relics unwittingly, which you fulfil. Three, their soul has to be whole, which you fulfil. Four, they have to be a decent person and I must like them, which both you and Tom fulfil, you more so than Tom, I’m just really biased about him, he’s like my human child.”

“And what exactly does being your assistant entail? Besides paperwork, of course.”

“Well, by being my assistant you get a few benefits. First, you become immortal, but you can still feel pain and emotions. Second, you get to interact with me and ask me for reasonable favours whenever you want, however, since I have a family, I expect you not to summon me every other day, because then I won’t like you as much if you try and cut my time with my wife, kids and grandkids short. Three, you get limited access to my powers, which is invisibility, shapeshifting, death magic, like soul reaping and decay, and space and dimension-travel.”

“Can you also do time-travel?” she asked excitedly.

“No, I don’t,” he deadpanned. “The only one who can control time is my father. He was already cranky enough when wizards invented Time-Turners. He really doesn’t like anyone messing with his domain.”

“And who is your father?”

“Time. And Magic is my mother.”

“Oh.”

“However, given the current situation with my overloaded foyer and mother being unhappy with what the British wizards are doing with her blessing, father agreed to do an exception. It also helped reminding him you did a favour for him.”

Ana frowned, confused. “I’m afraid I don’t recall the favour I did for your father,” she said, wincing apologetically.

“In your fifth year, you went to the Ministry of Magic and together with your friends destroyed every single Time-Turner in wizarding Britain. Father has been feeling infinitely happier since then.”

“Oh,” she said, “I do remember that, yes.”

“Well, and because of that, my father will let you time-travel and fix things.”

Ana’s eyes sparkled with hope as the possibility to save her parents and godfather and countless others crossed her mind. Maybe she could travel to when Voldemort went to school or when he was born, and prevent him from going bad.

Death, sensing her thoughts, immediately burst her bubble. “But only nine months,” he said with finality. “If you think you can go back far enough to save your family and plenty of others, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Why?”

“First, because your parents were never meant to live long lives with the kind of lifestyle they chose to live. Your godfather could have lived a longer life, but his impulsiveness was his demise. Second, the longest I’ve ever taken to process a soul is between 9 to 12 months, those who are on probation don’t count because it might take them years to become eligible for reincarnation, therefore, any souls that have been processed cannot ‘come back’. You can’t just simply reverse a reincarnation or Void.

“So, Cedric, Fred, Remus, Snape and other students were scheduled to die when they did and people like Bellatrix and Pettigrew will get to live another year or more,” she asked, annoyed.

“No, they weren’t, however, Cedric’s soul has already been reincarnated successfully and hopefully, this time around, he will be able to live a long and full life as someone else. However, if you do things right, you’ll be able to save most people that died in this war, but you won’t be able to rescue everyone, and I want you to understand and accept that, because, ultimately, you are not responsible for other people and their crap. You may be my ‘Mistress’ and assistant, but you don’t get to decide who lives and who dies. That is my and my wife’s job,” he said sternly.

“I know,” she said sullenly. “I know I’m not responsible for other people, but it’s who I am. I can’t just not care for other people.”

“And I’m not saying you should stop caring,” countered Death. “I’m simply saying you should think about yourself more. Don’t let other people dictate your life and actions, because the kind of universal approval you seek is not possible, because there will always be someone who is going to be bothered and dissatisfied by the way you think, the way you speak, the words you say, your actions. You will _never_ be able to please _everybody_ and it will be better for you, especially now that you are my ‘Mistress’ and assistant, if you understand and accept that.”

There was silence.

“Then, if I’m going back in time to fix things in the last nine months, can you at least give me a list of people that are meant to die soon so I don’t worry unnecessarily about failing, when they perish,” she said after a while.

“I can do that, yes.”

“And, besides preventing untimely deaths, is there anything else I have to do?”

“Well, mother would appreciate some help,” said Death, “but I’ll let her do the talking once you make your decision to go back.”

“And … when I go back, will I have the same body?”

“Of course, the one you had until a few moments ago is practically still warm and fresh, you know.”

“And will I go back to being a horcrux?”

“No,” said Death with finality.

“Then, what will happen to Voldemort’s soul shard?” she inquired.

“It will stay here in limbo.”

Voldemort stiffened. He had to remind himself this was a memory and that Ana decided to take the shard, which wasn’t a shard anymore, with her and give it its own body by carrying it in her womb.

Ana didn’t like how that sounded either, for her eyes filled with fear and she held onto the baby even tighter. “I don’t want to leave him behind,” she murmured in a subdued voice. “Voldemort may have hurt me plenty of times, but I can’t just leave his defenceless soul shard in limbo, alone. Not after seeing him hurt and feeling all those negative and sad emotions.”

“You don’t have to,” assured her Death, “but the only way for you to take the shard with you is if it stops being a shard.”

“And how does that happen?”

“My wife would have to create a new genetic code for him by combining parts from your genetic code with Tom’s genetic code,” explained Death matter-of-factly. “After that, you would have to carry it in your womb for nine months.”

“You mean I’ll be pregnant?” He nodded. “I’ll be a mother?” Another affirmative nod. “I’ll have my own baby,” she breathed in wonder, looking down at the infant in her arms. “I’ll have a family.”

Then, she recalled Voldemort still hated her and he might not want a baby at all, but she remained determined to do it. He didn’t have to be involved if he didn’t want to. It would just be the baby and her.

She took a deep breath and looked at Death with determination. “I’ll do it.”

Death nodded in understanding. “Very well. I’ll let my wife know.” A few beeping sounds went off. Death looked at his list and sighed.

“What is it?” asked Ana.

“Tom and his followers have just sent a new batch of souls to me, apparently not even your death was enough to make people surrender and give up the fight and Tom is just not having it.” He sighed, resigned. “He truly is the human embodiment of my sons when they decide to wreak havoc for their wife and sister when humans make her and the kids sick.”

Ana simply gaped at Death in utter disbelief.

Voldemort felt oddly moved, but uncomfortable at the same time. It would take him some time to get used to the idea that Death liked him, that it wanted to give him immortality, and that he thought of him as his human child.

“Anyway,” said Death, ignoring the new soul notifications, “when would you like to go back?”

She was tempted to say as soon as possible to stop the unnecessary deaths before it was too late, but at the same time, she still felt tired from all the fighting and hiding. She really wasn’t ready to start the cycle anew. Then again, she didn’t have to keep fighting and hiding if she spoke to Voldemort like civilised people and came to some sort of an agreement, but still, she would take at least a day off and just be with her future baby, getting used to motherhood, before going back to the Realm of the Living.

“Tomorrow evening,” she said.

“Very well, I’ll let my mother know she can come speak to you during the day and my wife will immediately start on the new genetic code.” The incessant death notifications were becoming unnerving, just how many people was Voldemort killing? “In the meantime, I’m going to write up a list of premature deaths I expect you to prevent to make my work easier for me.”

Seeing Ana’s expression of horror, he immediately said, “Don’t worry, he’s not causing all these deaths,” as if that would make her feel better somehow.

He left her a moment later, together with the soul shard, who woke up due to the noise. He started fussing and whimpering and she immediately began hissing gently at him.

“Come, my baby,” she cooed, “let’s have some fun, before we have to say goodbye for nine months, and then, when you are born, I’m going to shower you with all my love and affection. I’m not sure about your father, but I promise to make sure you never feel hunger or thirst, that you will always be well-clothed and happy. I know I won’t be able to replace your father, but I will do my best and hope it will be enough to make you happy, because you are the best thing that will ever happen to me. You are my precious … my treasure … my sunshine and I won’t ever let others make you feel differently.”

Just like a knot formed in Ana’s throat in the memory, a knot formed in Voldemort’s throat as well and just like how her eyes watered, that’s how his eyes watered too.

After singing a very poignant, but fitting song, where the phrase ‘My Love, My Life’ kept repeating itself in the lyrics, he observed her play with the baby, make faces at him to get him to smile and laugh, tickling him, sleeping with him on her chest or side-by-side.

She conjured up a few plush toys and rattles with her imagination so he could play with them, or rather, tear them apart and throw the limbs around. The only plush that remained safe from the baby’s wraith and bad temper was a snake plush. Noticing his attachment to the snake plush toy, she conjured up others in different shapes and colours. Seeing so many different kinds of snakes, fascinated the baby to the point it made him squeal and hiss in excitement.

While Ana laughed with the baby, Voldemort wanted to hide in an underground cave. This was so embarrassing. Seeing himself like that, happy, squealing, smiling and laughing, was such an alien image and concept to him he didn’t know what to think or feel.  

As Ana was taking an afternoon bubble bath with the baby, he found himself feeling something akin to envy and jealousy, for the baby was receiving all the love and attention that could potentially be his. He snorted. As if Ana would ever direct this kind of attention and affection to him, he thought self-deprecatingly. Why would she? He had done nothing but cause her harm. Unless she was an idiot or a masochist, she would never willingly develop feelings of love and affection for him.

The visit from Lady Magic brought him out of his pathetic thoughts.

Ana bowed and greeted the pale-skinned woman with holographic hair and golden eyes, draped in what looked like a toga.

“So …” began Lady Magic, “you’re my son’s newest assistant?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I know you already have a very demanding mission, but I was hoping you could do something for me as well.”

“Anything, ma’am.”

“It’s nothing too demanding I would hope, just make sure British magic users remember their magic should not be taken for granted for I can take it away anytime I wish, should they continue to neglect my gift and me with their stupidity. I think the steady abandonment of wizarding rituals and traditions in favour of getting approval from non-magically raised magic users counts as such,” said Lady Magic blankly.

Ana gulped. She herself has never performed any rituals. If she wanted to retain the favour of her employer’s mother, she would have to start building temples in her honour and worshipping her by performing rituals and making offerings. That should be enough to appease Lady Magic, right?

“The other nonsense I wish you to abolish immediately, or as soon as you are able to,” continued Lady Magic, “is the prohibition of certain types of magic and spells. There is nothing wrong with any kind of magic or spell. They simply exist, each with its own specific purpose and function in the grand scheme of things.” Seeing her sceptical face, Lady Magic added, “Yes, even what you classify as Dark Magic has its purpose in the world. Without it, the balance would break and honestly, I did not give you magic to control and regulate it, I granted you the ability to access it, see it, feel it. Do you think mere Mortals are qualified to meddle with my domain?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’m glad you agree with me,” said Lady Magic, satisfied. “Oh and please, correct those abominations you call Love Potions. There should only be one and that real one was never meant to make the drinker obsessed with the one who made the potion, but rather help them sort out any confused feelings for someone they already fancied to some degree, but felt confused and unsure for some reason, and give them that final push to confess their feelings. It was supposed to be a form of liquid courage, not a rape drug,” she said sternly. “Anyway, if I don’t see an improvement in the upcoming year, I will begin taking away my blessing, starting with those who think themselves superior to everyone, even to me.”

Ana gulped nervously. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you, Madam.”

“See that you don’t,” she said haughtily. “I won’t be pleased otherwise.”

With that, Lady Magic disappeared, much to Ana’s relief. She let out a loud sigh. She looked at the toddler and hugged him. “That lady was beautiful, but scary,” she told him. “We don’t want to make her angry, Tom, otherwise, she’ll come for us and take away our ability to do magic.”

The baby in her arms agreed with a serious nod.

…

As the time to return to the Realm of the Living approached, Life came to visit. She was beautiful like her mother, but unlike her, she had golden skin and vibrant green hair and eyes. Her dress was made of leaves and flowers; she wore a flower crown with flowers interspersed between her curls.

She immediately hugged her, being mindful of the baby in Ana’s arms. “Thank you, Ana,” she said sincerely, taking her by surprise. “Thank you for taking a bit of burden off my husband’s shoulders,” she smiled brightly.

“You’re welcome,” she returned with a shy smile.

“I have the genetic coding for the baby.” She pulled out a stack of papers. “I just need to infuse it with the soul and he’s going to be ready for gestation.”

She transformed the papers into a necklace, two bracelets and two anklets and put them on the baby. He fussed a bit, but calmed when Ana hissed comforting words into his ear.

“I made it so he will take more after his father personality-wise, especially the tendency to obsess over things, but he will still be able to be his own person. He will have your determination, eyes and hair, though.”

“Thank you,” smiled Ana.

Life smiled back. “Good luck with the pregnancy and motherhood,” she told her. “It’s not easy being a mother, but I would say it is the best thing in the world.” She sighed. “Hopefully you won’t have to do it alone. This little guy here,” she said, caressing his cheek, “is going to benefit from both of his parents, you know.”

“I don’t know about the father, but thank you. I will do my best to be the best mother I can be for him.” She kissed the top of the baby’s head.

Death joined them. He walked to his wife’s side, hugged her around the waist and kissed her neck.

“Have you two ladies finished?” he asked, placing his skeletal head on her shoulder.

“We have,” giggled Life, placing her hands over her husband’s hands. “I finished fusing the code with the soul, so the baby is ready for gestation. Now the only thing left is for Ana to go through the portal back to the Realm of the Living.”

He nodded. “Good. I have also made a list of people you will try your best to save and those who are destined to die in the following year.” He reached into his pocket with one hand and stretched it towards Ana.

She stepped closer and took the paper, which began to dissolve into her skin, imprinting the names into her memory.

“Alright, husband dearest, I’ll leave you two to talk.” She turned in his hold, smiling at him and touching his shoulders affectionately. “I’ll be in my workshop.” She kissed his skeletal mouth and left.

“Are you ready?” he asked Ana.

She swallowed hard. “I think so.”

Death sprinkled her with the time powder given to him by his father, before he swung his scythe and opened the portal to the Realm of the Living.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay, Ana,” she encouraged herself, “you can do this.”

She looked down at her arms, where Voldemort’s soul shard was sleeping peacefully in her arms. She smiled gently at the baby and caressed its exposed cheek with her knuckles, before placing a soft kiss on its head. “I’ll see you in nine months,” she told him.

She gazed at Death. “I’ll be going now,” she informed him. He nodded. “I’ll be counting on your assistance if things get too difficult with Voldemort. You know … if he decides to curse me first and ask questions later.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, “I’ll always be there for you and the baby, protecting you from spells and potions. However, you should pay attention regardless. Remember that, though immortal, you are still human. You can still get hurt. You can still feel pain. You can still feel emotions.”

She sighed. “I know, Death. I know. That’s why I’m asking for extra help. I don’t want anything to happen to the baby.” She cuddled it closer to her chest. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“As long as you pay attention to your health, you have nothing to worry about,” Death assured her.

She nodded and smiled a little. She looked towards the Realm of the Living.

“Here it goes.”

With a final sigh, she steeled herself and walked towards the portal, away from the train station, baby in arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we arrive at the final flashback 😁 Next chapter, we finally get back to the present with Voldemort and Ana and see how they fare after this memory trip. 
> 
> As for what it means to be the 'Master of Death', well in my eyes, it's both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you become immortal with really badass powers and are basically indestructible, on the other, you're stuck with soul paperwork ... for eternity or until you get tired of it and beg to be mortal again. 😂 
> 
> Also, let me know if you would like me to do a family tree of the Eternal Entities or at least how I imagined different Eternal Entities came about. You can see them as Gods since they act as such and they are extremely incestuous, but they are special so what would affect us doesn't affect them even if they marry their siblings.
> 
> And finally, I think that all the nursery rhyme lyrics that were included in the chapter are in public domain, so I believe I didn't violate any copyright material by including it, but correct me if I'm wrong and I'll re-write that particular section of the chapter. 😇
> 
> Let me know what you thought of the chapter and I'll see you with another chapter in two weeks' time. 😊


	6. Peace Treaty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort makes a decision in regards to Ana and the baby, but is really awkward about it, and Ana's subconsciousness is messing with her mind and heart, together with Marvolo, who can't seem to get tired of making her flustered with his comments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally return to the present, which means interaction between Voldemort and Ana. 😊 I hope you enjoy the aftermath, especially the awkwardness between the two. 
> 
> If you notice anything unusual, don't hesitate to point it out. 😇

Voldemort left Ana’s mind.

As his study and face came into focus again, the strain of prolonged legilimency made her dizzy. Her legs gave way. If it weren’t for Voldemort’s arms that quickly wound themselves around her torso to keep her upright, she would have collapsed on the floor.

She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed, breathing deeply, trying her hardest not to faint. Neither of them spoke. Instead, he lifted her up as if she were a princess and carried her to the loveseat and gently placed her on it, before sitting next to her.

He floated the teacup she was drinking from to them. “Here,” he said, breaking the silence and offering her the cup, “drink this.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the cup and took a sip, then leaned back onto the pillow and closed her eyes again to make dizziness go away. In the meantime, he conjured up a damp and cold compression and draped it over her forehead and eyes. As soon as the coolness hit her skin, she felt relieved.

She thanked him again, only for both to fall silent once more. A few excruciatingly long minutes later, he asked her, “Better?”

She murmured affirmatively. “The compression helped a lot … Thank you.”

He nodded stiffly, before he returned to staring blankly at the floor.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to be involved with the child,” she said in a small voice after a while. He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “It was a selfish decision on my part. I should have asked you about what you think and want, since you are the father, but …” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I just couldn’t leave him in limbo.” She blinked a few times to chase away the tears. “I wanted to give him a life we never had and I wanted to have a family, even if it is just the baby and me.” She paused to collect herself. “I will keep my promise and disappear from your life and you won’t have to see or hear from me or the baby ever again,” she concluded, not even able to meet his eyes. Had she looked, she would have seen a mixture of hurt and confusion in Voldemort’s eyes.

He ran his hands over his face and let out a sigh. “I don’t know what I want,” he admitted, looking lost. “I never intended to have any sort of intimacy or heirs with any one, mostly because I saw no need for lovers or kids, but also because I just didn’t want any of it.” He glanced at her. “And do you know why?”

She shook her head, meeting his gaze straight on. “No.”

“Because I hate people,” he said simply. Ana’s brow furrowed. “I hate people in general,” he elaborated after seeing her confusion. “It’s not just muggles; I hate magical people as well, regardless of their blood status.” He looked straight ahead again, recalling all the mistreatment he suffered at the hands of both muggles and wizards alike. “I hate them all for how they treated me as a child … muggles especially,” he said ominously, glaring hatefully at the ground and clenching his teeth and fists, trying to supress the shaking. “I will never forgive them for what they did to me,” he snarled venomously, memories of pure torture flashing before his eyes. He squeezed them shut to make them go away.

Pure dread had Ana’s stomach and chest in a cold, iron grip. Her thoughts immediately went to molestation and sexual assault. “Did any of them …” She swallowed hard. Was it even appropriate to ask him something so sensitive? Probably not, but she needed confirmation from Voldemort at the very least. The question was how to phrase it and not mention the taboo word. She cleared her throat. “… Touch you inappropriately?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “no one touched me inappropriately or raped me, but they still did many horrible things that have left just as much impact on me. Maybe someday I’ll tell you or show you what I had to go through, but not now.”

She nodded in understanding. No matter how curious she was to know what kind of horrors Voldemort had been put through as a child to understand him better, she would respect his decision not to divulge anything on the subject until he felt ready and comfortable sharing something so personal and delicate with her.  

He paused to collect his thoughts. “As for the baby and being a father,” he sighed. “It’s true that I never wanted to have that kind of responsibility. I don’t know how to be a father. I never had one.” He let out a self-deprecating huff. “I don’t even know what it means to be a parent, much less a good one. I don’t want to bring another unfortunate soul into the world simply to procreate and pass on my genes.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “Having children is more than that, and I don’t think I have it in me to give my child the things they need to grow up healthy and happy.”

Ana stared at Voldemort, not knowing what to think of the wise and sensible thoughts about child rearing coming out of his mouth. They made sense and the same doubts that plagued him, plagued her as well. It felt nice hearing him speak about his insecurities. It made him more human. More appealing. However …

“I understand what you’re saying,” she interjected gently, “because I worry about all that too. The only thing I can do is try my best, read books on the subject and go with my gut feeling to do what feels right. No one is born knowing how to be a parent.” Their eyes met. “One learns to be a parent through parenting, with a lot of trials and errors. Sometimes it takes more than one child to get it right, and even then, how does one know if they are doing it right? … There is no such thing as a perfect way of parenting, because people are different and what works for one person might not work for someone else. I guess …” she fumbled a bit under the weight of Voldemort’s look. She cleared her throat. “What I’m trying to say is that … don’t let doubts stop you from trying to be a parent,” she concluded gently.

For a while, he didn’t say anything. He kept staring at her, until he averted his gaze and let out a sigh.

“I could,” he allowed, “but I need time to sort my thoughts. I need to think about the matter, before giving you the final answer.”

“Of course,” she assured him. “Take as much time as you need.”

“In the meantime,” he continued, “you are to stay in this manor. You will get a room of your own and you will be able to move freely around the mansion. You can even go outside if you so wish, however, do not stray too far. I’ll know if you do,” he warned her.

“I won’t stray,” she assured him.

“And no contact with anyone, not until we’ve come up with a satisfactory peace treaty for both sides. I think you could use the rest of the day to come up with your requirements and desires for the peace treaty. The people that are off-limits and the like.”

She readily agreed to his conditions.

“Good,” he nodded, satisfied. “I expect to see the first draft of the treaty by tomorrow morning.”

He was about to get up from the loveseat, when Ana reached out for his hand on instinct, not even sure why she did it. “Wait.” Oh God, she sounded so desperate.

“Yes?”

She swallowed hard, not quite sure what to say. “Sorry,” she blurted out. Voldemort’s expression remained impassive.

“What for?”

“For destroying your horcruxes … for stabbing you. I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t,” he said sternly, interrupting her. She was confused. “Don’t apologise,” he repeated. “Don’t regret your actions, because you did what you had to do to survive and there’s nothing wrong in that. Just like how I will never regret or apologise for killing all those people, torturing others, killing your parents, trying to kill you that night almost sixteen years ago and all the subsequent attempts … for killing you in the Forbidden Forest …”

Ana’s eyes watered during his speech and a knot formed in her throat as she fought back tears.

“Because if I hadn’t done all those things,” he continued firmly, “… if you hadn’t done the things you did, we wouldn’t be here, talking like we are now. You wouldn’t have met Death and you certainly wouldn’t have been pregnant with …” he paused, unsure of how to conclude that thought. She wasn’t pregnant with his horcrux, despite a piece of his soul being the basis for the baby. It wasn’t only hers or his, but … “our child,” he concluded awkwardly.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded, still trying to blink away the tears and process the storm of confusion and emotions that swirled inside her mind and chest at his words.

This time, when he made a move to stand up, she didn’t stop him.

“Are you still dizzy?” he asked her, feeling awkward showing concern and interest in her well-being.

She shook her head.

“Then, I trust you will be able to walk to the dining room downstairs on your own.” He walked to the study door. He turned to her with a hand on the handle. “Well?” he prompted her, when she made no move to get up from the loveseat. “Will you join me for breakfast or not?”

She scrambled hurriedly to her feet and caught up to him. That was also when she noticed that both Marvolo and Death were no longer present. When did they disappear that she didn’t even notice? She really must’ve been caught up in the moment with Voldemort for it to have slipped her notice.

They didn’t speak during their little trip to the dining room, but as he led the way to the dining room, Ana took the opportunity to look at her surroundings. Unlike the dusty, decrepit and dilapidated looking interior she saw in the dream before the start of her fourth year, the manor looked well kept, clean, and beautiful. She wasn’t sure to which era it dated, but it had probably seen its fair share of parties during the Regency and Victorian eras, judging by the sheer size of the drawing room that branched off from the foyer.

Opposite the drawing room was the dining room with one of the biggest dining tables she had ever seen. It was almost as big as the staff table at Hogwarts and had double the amount of chairs around it. There, at the head, were two sets of dishes, one for her and one for Voldemort. The delicious smell of fried eggs and bacon filled her nostrils and made her stomach grumble. At that, her cheeks heated and she didn’t dare look at Voldemort not wanting to see his reaction to the noises coming from her stomach. It was already mortifying to know he heard them.

Together with eggs and bacon, there were also a few slices of toast, a few jars of marmalade to go with the bread, sliced fruit, freshly squeezed orange juice and more tea, should one of them prefer one drink over the other.

They sat down and started eating in silence. A few bites in, she felt like she needed to say something, because the silence was making her anxious. She glanced his way and cleared her throat to draw his attention.

“While I’m writing my side of the treaty … what will you be doing?” She wasn’t sure it was her place to ask him such questions, but she hoped he would stay close.

“If you’re asking if I’ll be here at the manor, the answer is yes. I’ll be in my study, thinking, for the most part. Once you hand in your side of the treaty, I’ll add my piece as well.”

Heat creeped into her cheeks again and she faced forward again, focussing on her plate.

“Should you need anything, ask Phobos … or come to me.”

She nodded.

They didn’t talk again until the end of the meal, when Voldemort summoned Phobos and instructed him to show her to her room, which was conveniently placed next to his.

‘ _I wonder if the rooms are connected_.’ They could be, and if they were, she wasn’t sure her nerves could handle the proximity. It’s not that she didn’t want to be close to him, she simply wasn’t used to the idea of being separated yet joined to Voldemort by a wall and a simple door.

Before she followed the elf, he spoke to her. “I’ll see you for lunch and dinner.”

Their eyes met. She swallowed nervously, her heart in throat, before nodding and leaving the dining room.

…

Her gut feeling was correct, as soon as the elf explained where the two other doors in her room led: the one on the right led to the bathroom and the other connected and separated her room with Voldemort’s. At least she had her own bathroom and the bedroom itself was spacious and bright. It was almost as big as the entire girl’s Gryffindor dorm. It had a giant four-poster bed with white, see-through bed curtains in the middle of the right wall, next to the bathroom. Next to the door leading to Voldemort’s bedroom, there was a vanity made from cherry wood and a big closet made from the same wood and a full-body mirror.

She walked to the bed and ran her hand over the soft covers, revelling in the softness of the material. She was about to throw herself on it, when she remembered she should probably wash herself first before touching anything else.

She went to the bathroom and gaped at the interior. Even the bathroom looked spacious and expensive, what with marble ceramic tiles on all four walls, a black and fluffy carpeted floor and a luxurious ceramic bathtub, toilet, sink, mirror and cupboards. Now she felt intimidated to touch anything in the bathroom as well.

She remembered that she didn’t have any spare clothes with her. “What now?” she sighed.

“Why, call the elf, of course, and ask him for some clothes.” Marvolo’s voice answered her. “Or look inside the closet, maybe there are some spare clothes in there.” She looked to her right, where Marvolo’s ghostly form was floating beside her.

Ana was sceptical about the closet, but went to check anyway. When she found it empty, she felt bumped, because she would have to burden the elf with extra work, but also relieved. She wasn’t sure if she would have liked seeing female clothes of any kind in a room next to his … or anywhere in the manor.

Marvolo heard her thoughts and smirked. “Are you jealous already?” he teased. “You’ve barely been here for a few hours and you’re already territorial of Voldemort.” He shook his head in mock disapproval.

She immediately blushed. “No, o-of course, not,” she sputtered indignantly. “Why would I be jealous? It’s none of my business if he had or has someone.”

Marvolo wasn’t convinced, and she probably knew she didn’t mean it either. At his arched eyebrow and unimpressed look, she let out a sigh in resignation. “Fine, I don’t like the thought of him having other lovers, happy now?” she admitted, shutting the closet door.

“Very,” he grinned like the Cheshire cat.

She covered her hot face with her hands and let out a mortified sound. “I’m so pathetic.” Marvolo agreed. She glared at him. “You weren’t supposed to agree with me on that,” she deadpanned.

“Oh,” he said, “my bad.” He didn’t feel bad at all.

She let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t even know if he wants to be a part of the baby’s life and I’m already acting as if we’re married.”

“Would you want to?” he prompted her.

She sent a confused look Marvolo’s way. “Want what?”

“Marry Voldemort,” he said; his eyes intense, no trace of teasing in his voice.

She froze. “I don’t know,” she said tentatively after a long silence. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if he asked. I do want to give the baby a loving and stable home with both parents present.”

Marvolo didn’t say anything to that, simply narrowed his eyes in thought and studied the unusual phenomenon that was Ana Potter. In the meantime, she called for the elf and told him about her clothes dilemma.

“Sorry, Miss,” said Phobos apologetically, “but there are no lady clothes in the manor.”

She expected that to be the case, but Ana still felt dejected at the news. “However,” the elf added quickly, after noticing her disappointment, “Phobos could ask his master for clothes and then Phobos will go buy something for the Miss to wear.”

Once more, her face grew hot, this time at the idea of wearing Voldemort’s clothes. Like how women usually wore their partner’s clothes after sex. Marvolo was already snorting next to her, immensely amused by her reactions and thought process.

Her first instinct was to refuse the elf’s offer and just wait for Phobos to bring her some clothes, before taking her bath, however, she also felt extremely tired, but didn’t want to dirty the expensive bedsheets with grime and sweat. “I-If your master doesn’t mind, then, I would like to borrow his clothes for a few hours.”

Phobos disappeared with a pop.

“Don’t say anything,” she gritted through her teeth, when Marvolo opened his mouth. He quickly closed it and raised his arms in a surrendering gesture, looking smug.

Less than five minutes later, the elf returned with a set of Voldemort’s clothes. After helping her set up the bath, he left again to give her privacy.

With Marvolo keeping her company, she took her time to soak in the warm, bubbly and perfumed water, easing the dull ache in her muscles and joints. She supposed she could use the time to come up with what to put in the treaty, but when she thought about it, she realised she didn’t have many conditions to give or requests to make. Beyond making sure people who were not scheduled to die didn’t die prematurely this time around, that no student had to suffer through having sadistic Death Eater for teachers, and assuring her own peace and quiet, there wasn’t much else that she wanted from Voldemort in terms of the treaty. Maybe she could convince him to tone down the torture for minor transgressions, but if people openly tried to sabotage him or even made attempts on his life, who was she to tell him not to torture them or punish them in any other way.

It would also be nice if she could finish her education, if only to close that particular chapter in her life. She wasn’t sure how she would do in the practical part of Defence and Potions while being pregnant, but she was willing to give her seventh and last year at Hogwarts a try. Especially now that the war would end and her future with Voldemort was uncertain. If she ended up being a single mother, she needed to be able to find a job and provide for her child, and she couldn’t do that without an education.

“Do you really think he will back away?” commented Marvolo.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, “I just know that I don’t want to get my hopes up. Because the lower my expectations are, the less it will hurt when nothing comes out of it.”

Marvolo didn’t say anything to that.

…

After Ana left the dining room with Phobos, Voldemort returned to his study to think about everything he had learned that morning, about Ana’s pregnancy especially.

Never in a million years did he imagine becoming and being a father or doing anything that might give some crazy woman or man the idea to claim they were expecting his child. He wasn’t father material, he wasn’t even husband or lover material. He had no idea how to be any of those three things. He didn’t think he had it in him. He didn’t know or understand love, he hadn’t really felt it. The closest he had gotten to feeling affection of any kind was for Nagini and she was a snake, an animal. Yes, they could communicate, but to have that level of care for a human being was beyond him.

It would be so _easy_ to say he didn’t want part in any of it, let Ana deal with everything, but if he did, if he didn’t even give it a try, he would feel like he was mirroring his own parents and how they both let him down and abandoned him, and he didn’t want to be like them. Therefore, the logical thing was to do just the opposite of what they did. Give his own child the things he didn’t get as one; a father, a family, loving parents.

A family … could he really form a family with Ana? Images of her cradling his soul shard in limbo, taking care of him, singing to him, showering him with kisses and praise came to his mind. He wanted that kind of attention to be directed at him as well. He wanted her to like him; he wanted her … to love him. He knew he sneered at love all the time, but he wouldn’t mind if she fell in love with him … somehow.

He supposed marriage was a requirement, but the question was if she even wanted to marry him. Probably not, but he was a selfish bastard and he would go (almost) to any lengths to get what he wanted and he wanted Ana’s affection and adoration. He wanted her in his life … as his wife and the mother of his child, perhaps even children several years down the line.

He let out a heavy sigh and passed his hands over his face. Him, wilfully thinking about having multiple children and contracting marriage, he must be losing it.

A pop interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and saw Phobos.

“What is it, Phobos?” he inquired tiredly.

“Phobos apologises for the inconvenience, but the Miss wants to take a bath, but has no clothes to change into and Phobos thought she could borrow some of master’s clothes, while Phobos goes shopping for some lady clothes,” explained the elf and Voldemort perked up at the prospect of Ana wearing his clothes.

“Give her a set of robes from my closet,” he said almost immediately, already trying to picture how she would look in them. “Then, go buy her something … elegant and feminine.”

“Like a dress, sir?” wondered Phobos.

Voldemort thought for a bit, trying to imagine her in a dress. A green, old-fashioned one from the fifties with a fitted bodice and a flared knee-long skirt to represent Slytherin colours or something more neutral like black or white with floral design.

“Yes, Phobos, a dress.” He reached into one of the desk drawers and pulled out a money pouch, counted twenty galleons and handed them to the elf. “Here,” he said, “the money for a couple of dresses, but buy them after lunch.” He wanted to see how she looked in his robes before seeing her wearing a dress.

Phobos bowed and left, and Voldemort suddenly felt the urge to spy on Ana taking a bath. He had done it when he viewed her memories. Not that he paid much attention to her nakedness in certain memories, now he wished he paid more attention to her body.

Another heavy sigh escaped him and he rested his head against his hands.

“ _Here you are!_ ” he heard Nagini hiss. “ _I was wondering where you went so early in the morning._ ” She slithered into the office and made her way to him.

“ _I had some urgent business to attend to_ ,” he said, leaning forward with an extended hand. She climbed it and coiled herself around his shoulders comfortably.

“ _What business?_ ”

“ _I met with Ana Potter_ ,” he informed her.

“ _Ana Potter … isn’t that the girl you’ve been trying to kill for a while?_ ”

“ _Yes, that’s her, but this morning we’ve agreed to sign a peace treaty._ ”

“ _Why?_ ” she wondered, confused.

“ _Because she doesn’t want us to hurt each other,_ ” he said, _“… and because she’s pregnant with my child_.”

Her head rose high. “ _You’re going to have a hatchling?!_ ” she exclaimed in shock. “ _When did that happen? As far as I know, you never mated with anyone and now you tell me you’re going to have a hatchling. That doesn’t make sense_ _… How far along is she?_ ”

“ _A day … more or less_ ,” answered Voldemort.

“ _A day?!_ ” she repeated, taken aback. “ _How is that possible? Don’t human females need more time to find out they’re expecting?_ ”

“ _I wouldn’t know I never had to deal with a pregnant woman before_ ,” hissed Voldemort, annoyed.

“ _And, you were here the entire day yesterday. There is no way you could have mated with her without me scenting her on you. Either she is expecting someone else’s hatchling or you humans have invented a new type of mating by distance_ ,” she reasoned.

Voldemort’s lips twitched and a small, amused smile graced his face. “ _You’re right, I haven’t mated with her or anyone else, but the child she’s expecting is mine._ ”

“ _How?_ ”

“ _You know how you have a piece of my soul stored inside you?_ ”

Nagini nodded.

“ _Well, until yesterday, Ana Potter also had a piece of my soul inside her,_ ” he explained and he could see wonder on the snake’s face. “ _But yesterday, something happened and the piece of my soul became a baby inside of her._ ”

She hissed in alarm. “ _Does that mean I can end up expecting a hatchling with you too?_ ” she asked perplexed.

Voldemort laughed and patted her head. “ _No, you won’t_ ,” he said to assure her. “ _This is just a very special case, nothing else._ ”

Nagini let out a relieved sigh. “ _Good, because it would be extremely inappropriate if it happened because you’re like my hatchling, since I took care of you when you were small and weak, and I can’t have a hatchling of my hatchling._ ”

He agreed with her. She sighed again and slithered down. He let her, but couldn’t help but ask where she was going.

“ _To say ‘hi’ to the woman expecting your hatchling_ ,” she said casually.

“ _Nagini,_ ” he said carefully after her. She stopped and looked at him. “ _I don’t think she would appreciate your company right now._ ”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“ _First, she’s taking a bath right now and second, even though she can talk to snakes, I don’t know how fond she is of them._ ”

Nagini perked up at the news of another parseltongue in the nest. “ _A speaker … like you? And since the hatchling is yours, he will speak it too. How exciting,_ ” she hissed joyfully, before slithering away towards Ana’s room.

Voldemort looked after her and let out a resigned sigh, leaning against the back of his chair. He should probably start looking into how to reabsorb his two vagrant soul pieces.

…

She was half-asleep in the tub, when she felt something graze her leg. She jolted upright with a yelp, wide-awake. There was a snake climbing into the tub. Voldemort’s snake. The same snake that attacked Ron’s father, the same one that she saw in her dreams since fourth year.

She went rigid with fear and nerves, not daring to move a muscle. She let out a shaky breath and screwed her eyes shut, when the snake started to move up her torso.

“ _No need to be afraid, speaker,_ ” she heard Nagini hiss. “ _I simply wish to say ‘hi’ to the mother of my hatchling’s hatchling._ ”

Ana carefully opened her eyes and came face to face with her. She gulped. “ _Sorry, I just didn’t expect to have company while bathing,_ ” she hissed hesitantly. Nagini observed her, and then leaned in closer, flicking her tongue across her skin several times.

“ _Well, it was either me or my hatchling_ ,” said Nagini casually. “ _I think it would have been more uncomfortable for you if he was here instead of me._ ”

Ana coughed, almost choking on her saliva, and heat hit her hard in the face again. “ _You mean to say Voldemort wanted to climb into the tub with me?_ ” she whispered, instinctually covering her breasts and looking at the slightly opened bathroom door in alarm.

“ _Well, he didn’t say it, but I scented his male excitement when I saw him just now_ ,” she explained, unfazed.

Ana didn’t think her brain and heart could handle that sort of information.

“ _Don’t worry, he’s in his work nest,_ ” assured her Nagini.

“Besides,” commented Marvolo in her ear, revelling in her embarrassment, “don’t act like you don’t want him in here.”

‘ _Yes, but not right now!_ ’ she screamed internally, cupping her cheeks and closing her eyes. ‘ _I’m not ready yet. I need to prepare myself mentally for any type of intimate interaction. And who says there’s ever going to be one between Voldemort and me_ _anyway? I told you I don’t want to get my hopes up._ ’

Marvolo rolled his eyes in resignation, sighed, and didn’t press any further. However, he sincerely hoped his older self wasn’t stupid enough to give up the chance at being happy and loved.

…

Ana quickly finished her bath. She hoped Phobos would have managed to get the shopping done by lunch, but apparently, he busied himself with housework and lunch preparation, but promised to get her some woman clothes before dinner. Therefore, she had no other choice but to wear Voldemort’s clothes for the next few hours.

As expected, they were much bigger on her, but at least they were extremely comfortable made not from silk exactly, but a very light and flowy material that gently caressed her skin, and easily adjustable.

As she stood in front of the mirror, making the necessary adjustments by collecting and pinching the fabric at the waist to make it more form fitting, Marvolo and Nagini were right there beside her, observing her.

“Maybe you should forgo feminine clothes and just wear his robes instead,” teased Marvolo.

“ _You look nice in my hatchling’s clothes,_ ” praised Nagini. “ _You should wear them more often. I’m sure he would like that_.”

Her cheeks turned bright red at their comments, but otherwise said nothing. She simply looked at herself in the mirror and smoothed out the robes, before turning away, throwing herself on the bed, burying her face into the pillow and letting out an embarrassed squeal.

“You two are unbelievable,” she complained in a small voice. She then turned her head sideways and just lay on the bed, enjoying the softness of the covers, the mattress, the pillow.

“What time is it?” she asked drowsily.

“How would I know, I don’t have a watch on me,” retorted Marvolo.

“Then, wake me up, when it’s time for lunch,” she told him. “I’m going to take a nap.”

Before she knew it, she was already asleep.

…

About an hour after Nagini left to greet Ana, she came back to his office, reporting on what transpired in the bathroom and bedroom. She told him about how good she looked in his robes and how flustered she got when she mentioned she should wear his clothes more often and that he probably wanted to join her in the bath.

At that, he almost choked on the tea and he managed to sputter some of the liquid on the desk. “ _Why would you tell her something like that?_ ” he snarled through his teeth, once he recovered from his massive coughing fit.

“ _Why wouldn’t I tell her that you got excited knowing she was taking a bath?_ ” wondered Nagini, confused. “ _Isn’t she your mate now?_ ”

Voldemort buried his face in his hands. “ _Because it’s embarrassing and inappropriate,_ ” he sighed. “ _Especially since she’s not my mate … yet._ ”

Nagini observed him for a long time. “ _Well,_ ” she said casually, “ _you have to start getting close to her somewhere and somehow._ ” She started slithering away again, when she remembered something else. “ _Oh, and she’s taking a nap. Be a good future mate and go wake her up for your next meal._ ” She was halfway through the doorway, when she added, “ _Maybe even consider bringing her food to her nest._ ”

Voldemort stared incredulously after Nagini, trying to process what had just happened. His less-than-fruitful research forgotten, Nagini’s words kept repeating themselves in his mind. He couldn’t believe she told Ana something like that, now she probably thought him some perverted sexual maniac, when it couldn’t have been further from the truth. Well … on second thought … maybe he was a sexual maniac in the making, because now he wanted to go to her room and watch her sleep.

Letting out a loud sigh and burying his face in his hands again, he tried to get himself under control and succeeded. Until Phobos came to inform him that lunch was ready and wanted to know if he should let Ana know too, then, the entire conversation with Nagini came flooding forth again in his mind and he was seriously considering waking her up, preferably with a tray full of food.

No, he wouldn’t do that. It was weird. It was creepy. It was too sudden and unrealistic. Then again, Nagini was right, if he intended for Ana to fall for him, he probably should do standard corny things to gain her affections sooner rather than later, but just thinking about reciting poetry, gifting her flowers or chocolates, saying “romantic” things made him shudder in discomfort and his skin crawl unpleasantly. Maybe someday, he will wake her up with a tray of food in bed, but not today.

However, he would go wake her up personally, send Phobos shopping, just so he would have a valuable excuse why the elf couldn’t wake her instead.

The elf left with a pop and Voldemort steeled himself for the task ahead. He stood up and walked to Ana’s bedroom. He paused at the door, debating between knocking or not before entering, until he remembered that it probably didn’t make a difference if she was asleep.

Taking in a deep breath, he entered, mindful of not being too loud in the process. His eyes immediately went to the bed, where he saw her, lying on her side, facing the door and wearing his black robes. He got closer and, when he was standing right next to it, looking over Ana, he wasn’t sure how to wake her.

While he was deciding on his approach, he let his gaze roam her frame. She looked completely relaxed and at peace in a bed next door to his in his manor. Her chest rose and fell in tandem with her deep breaths, and while his clothes looked large on her, they still suited her. At some point, he sat next to her on the edge. He reached out to trace the side of her face with the tips of his fingers, not quite aware of it.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, Voldemort jerked his hand away from Ana and looked at the ghostly version of his younger self, who was regarding him with narrowed eyes.

“Nothing,” he hissed through his teeth impatiently.

Marvolo regarded him shrewdly. “It didn’t look nothing to me.”

“I came to wake her for lunch,” he said in a stiff whisper. “The elf went to Diagon Alley to buy clothes for her so he couldn’t come wake her himself.”

“So good of you,” remarked Marvolo sarcastically. After a beat of silence, he added in a serious tone, “You don’t have to delude yourself, you know.”

Voldemort felt confused by Marvolo’s words. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Of course you don’t,” he said with sarcasm again.

“If you have something to tell me, say it,” Voldemort whispered, irritated.

Marvolo regarded him with a smug smirk. “Alright,” he began, “if you want to tell yourself you’re here just to wake her up for lunch, go ahead, tell yourself that, but if it were only that you wouldn’t be sitting by her side on the bed, watching her sleep and trying to caress her.”

Voldemort clenched his jaw and glared at his horcrux. “What are you implying? That I have feelings for her?” he snarled under his breath.

“Well, you’re certainly not indifferent or hostile,” returned Marvolo. “I would say you’re intrigued, curious.”

Voldemort looked away; his jaw still clenched tight, but said nothing.

“What will you do about the baby?” he finally asked him, because that was what all of that was about, wasn’t it. “Will you back away?”

Voldemort stayed silent for a long moment. “I won’t,” he said finally.

“Good,” Marvolo nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Because Ana wants a family, not just with the baby, but a husband as well.

“I’m not sure I can be the husband she wants and needs, or the father the baby needs,” he said sombrely. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to return her feelings if she ever develops love for me.” There was a brief pause, before he huffed and his lips curled in a smug smirk. “However that doesn’t mean I don’t want her to shower me with affection.”

Marvolo’s lips mirrored Voldemort’s grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he said. Then, he looked at Ana’s sleeping form with a fond smile. “It felt nice and slightly frustrating seeing her spend time in limbo with the shard, right?”

Voldemort followed Marvolo’s example. “It did,” he agreed, “but it was also very puzzling.” He frowned slightly. “I don’t know how she can possibly care for it, for me, after everything I put her through.”

“I suppose this is what people mean when they say ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’,” Marvolo commented dryly, rolling his eyes. “Does it even matter what the reason is or if it makes sense?” he said, annoyed with his older counterpart. “What matters is that she cares and has the potential to develop attraction and love for you. Who cares if she would most definitely be better off with someone infinitely nicer or someone younger than you? If you have the chance to have her and her affection for yourself, then do everything you must to obtain it. Don’t dawdle on inconsequential details,” said Marvolo sternly. “As for your feelings in regards to her, they might not happen overnight, but that doesn’t mean they can’t happen naturally over time. The less concerned you’ll be about it, the better.”

As if sensing their presence, Ana started to shift. Voldemort froze, with his heart hammering in his head and chest, expecting her to open her eyes any moment and feeling uncomfortable seeing him sitting next to her. However, she didn’t wake up. Instead, she settled on her back and continued sleeping.

Relieved, he let out his breath. His heart still thundered, but at least some of the tension left his body. He looked her over one more time, and lost himself staring at her again. It wasn’t until Marvolo made a comment about their lunch getting cold that Voldemort finally came out of his reverie and set out to wake her.

He called out her name. When she didn’t react to it, he tried again, slightly louder and firmer this time. Still no significant reaction. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder and shook it in the same fashion. “Ana, wake up,” he said, “lunch is ready.”

Finally, she began stretching and shifting again. This time, she cracked open an eye to a slit, then the other, until she was squinting at the ceiling. She yawned long and wide, before rubbing her eyes and blinking away her drowsiness. When she looked his way, the last traces of sleep vanished from her body instantaneously.

She jolted upright. “Voldemort,” she exclaimed, surprised, with slightly flushed cheeks. “Is something the matter?”

“I came to tell you that lunch is ready.”

“Oh,” she said slightly dejected. What else did she expect? “Right, lunch.”

He stood up. “If you were expecting Nagini or Phobos, Nagini is either hunting or sunbathing on a rock somewhere near the mansion and Phobos is at Diagon Alley buying you some clothes.”

She nodded. Silence stretched between them.

Voldemort cleared his throat. “I hope the robes are comfortable, if slightly big,” he said, feeling rigid and awkward.

“Oh, yes,” she said hurriedly, “They are very comfortable. Thank you for lending them to me.”

He nodded stiffly, still not used to hearing her thank him for anything, much less so many times in one day. “I’ll be in the dining room. When you’re ready, join me,” he said, before leaving the room.

Ana stared after him, feeling uncharacteristically hot and sweaty. She didn’t expect to wake up to him next to her, even if he was just sitting, especially not after that weird dream, where the baby she was expecting was already born and running around the house, performing acrobatic stunts, she was carrying another baby in her arms and she was expecting another one, given her heavily pregnant stomach. At some point in her dream, Voldemort joined her, hugging her waist and kissing her neck, before whispering loving … suggestive things in her ear.

Her face heated up and she threw herself on the mattress again, covering her face with hands. Her consciousness was messing with her brain and her heart, because neither organs were ready for her dream scenario.

With how hot she felt, she smelled herself just to see she didn’t have to give herself another quick rinse before lunch. However, she would definitely rinse her face with cold water.

If she already didn’t feel flustered enough, she heard Marvolo beside her, chuckling and making a teasing remark, “Three kids, ha? Why don’t you share your dream with him over lunch, I’m sure he would enjoy hearing about your three children together and all the juicy activities required to get to that number.”

“No!” she squealed, feeling hotter than before, hiding her face in her hands … again. “I don’t even know how that dream came about. Please, Marvolo,” she looked at him pleadingly, “please, don’t tell him anything. I promise I’ll tell him myself … eventually, but not now, it’s too early.”

Marvolo laughed, infinitely amused by how easy it was to make her blush like a tomato, but agreed not to tell his older counterpart anything about Ana’s domestic dream.

…

After a quick cold rinse, she joined Voldemort in the dining room, where they ate lunch. Most of it was similar to breakfast, the prolonged periods of silence and short and awkward attempts at conversation. Their conversation mostly revolved around him asking her about the bedroom and her thoughts about it.

She wanted to ask him about his work and if he managed to do some of what he planned, but decided against it, because it seemed too personal and invasive a question for two people, who barely stopped being enemies and hostile towards each other. It sounded too much like something a wife would ask her husband. (Why was her brain intent on making everything somehow connected to marriage? She really needed to stop, because this wasn’t normal anymore.) Although, she supposed that work was also a safe topic to ask anyone really, regardless of the relationship status. It probably seemed inappropriate only to her.

For a fleeting moment, she considered asking him about Nagini’s comment about his ‘excitement’, but just as quickly the thought popped in her mind she was quick to extinguish it just as rapidly. This was an even worse topic to discuss with him than his work. It was almost as bad as telling him about her weird dream where they were together and loved each other.

When they finished eating, they each retired to their own corner in the manor, Voldemort to his study and Ana to her new bedroom to write her part of the peace treaty.

Shortly after she started writing, Phobos returned with two elegant dresses for Ana. As she inspected them and their quality, she recalled that the money for them probably came from Voldemort. She would have to thank him at dinner. If she weren’t so busy trying to avoid inappropriate conversational topics, she could have thanked him for providing the money for her new dresses at lunch. Oh, well, at least now, they had a topic of conversation for dinner, aside from the peace treaty, in case she managed to have it all written by evening.

…

While Ana busied herself with the peace treaty, Voldemort did something he never thought he would do for as long as he lived, which meant never, because he was immortal. He called for Death.

At first, he called out to the entity in a reluctant voice, not exactly sure, if calling him would even work for him, since he wasn’t his assistant. When nothing happened the first time, he tried again, this time with more confidence.

“I thought I heard someone calling me.” The bone-chilling voice echoed through his study, moments before materialising in front of Voldemort, who had to suppress a shiver. “However, never would I have imagined you would be the one to call for me … Tom.”

“Me neither,” confessed Voldemort, ignoring the fact that Death called him by his birth name. He was already experiencing some tightness in his throat at the sight of Death and his stomach churned and twisted together with the rest of his insides. He was already regretting calling him.

“Well, whatever made you call me must be extremely important, so, tell me, Tom, what can I do for you?” he said in a warm tone, or as warm as his hollow voice could be.

“When I was viewing Ana’s memories in limbo,” he began, “during your first conversation with her, you told her you were considering me as your assistant.”

Death nodded slowly. “I did.”

“Could I still somehow qualify for that role, even though I don’t fulfil two of your four conditions?” Voldemort looked straight at Death with no spec of fear in his eyes or voice.

Death didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, he said, “You could, though, to be honest, I think you would be more fitting to be my wife’s assistant,” he deadpanned.

Voldemort grimaced. “That couldn’t be further from the truth,” he assured him, because he only valued his life, not the lives of others.

Death chuckled. “You may be good at reaping souls, but you’re rubbish at judging them. I love you as a son, but even I wouldn’t trust you with deceased souls without Ana’s supervision,” he told him honestly, no sugarcoating it, “but if you insist in knowing the modified requirements to become my assistant then, one, you need a whole soul and, two, you have to marry Ana to have ‘joint’ ownership of the Deathly Hallows.”

“And how do I get my soul back together entirely, when a piece was used to create the baby Ana is expecting?”

“Don’t worry, just reabsorb the rest and you should be good,” assured him Death.

“And how do I do that?” said Voldemort impatiently. “Apparently, the only way is through regret and I regret nothing. I’m not going to regret my actions,” he said vehemently.

“And you don’t have to,” told him Death, unfazed by Voldemort’s tone. “I will tell you the ritual to reabsorb your soul pieces, however,” he added gravely, “the ritual only works if your soul pieces are vagrant, in other words, free from their containers and the only way to free a soul piece from its container is destroying it.”

Voldemort swallowed hard.

“That means … I will have to hurt myself to become whole again?” he asked carefully.

“’Hurt’ is the right word for it,” told him Death with a hollow chuckle that held no amusement whatsoever, “because while the soul pieces can’t be destroyed so easily, they do get hurt when the container is destroyed, and when they reunite with their original soul, your body will bear the scars that the soul pieces bear as well.”

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit. And speaking of destroying the containers … He let out a shaky breath.

“So … I will … have to kill Nagini … eventually?” Nagini. The only other being beside himself that he had cared about with the same intensity.

“Yes, you will have to kill her to release the soul piece, just like you did with Ana the first time around. You can only be truly immortal with a whole soul,” told him Death hollowly.

Voldemort clenched his shaking hand into a fist and squeezed his eyes shut to reign in his emotions and the contents of his stomach, because simply thinking about killing Nagini made him physically sick. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of killing. In fact, he couldn’t hate it more in that instant.

“Do I have … a time limit?” he managed to force through the knot that was constricting his throat. His eyes prickled with unshed tears.

“No … take your time,” he assured him. “However, when you do start to reabsorb your soul, do arm yourself with some Phoenix tears … you’re going to need them like air and water.” He was probably referring to the Basilisk venom. Great. “As for the other requirement I listed,” continued Death in an authoritative tone, “if you still decide you want to be my assistant and you marry Ana … you better not marry her for interest or convenience’s sake or to play with her emotions.” Death told him menacingly, wagging his index bony finger at him.

Well, he was already considering marrying her so he could eventually gain her love and affections. Did that count as interest and convenience? It probably did.

“When you do marry her, do so to make her feel loved and happy, as well as the child that’s developing inside her. She and the child deserve that much.”

“Understood,” agreed Voldemort. “Now, can you explain the ritual to me?”

After Death explained it to him and he had it all written down, Death was about to disappear to his realm.

“Good luck with the ritual, Tom,” he said, patting his shoulder, “you’ll need it together with a high pain tolerance.”

The action took Voldemort by surprise and since Death was the one performing the gesture, he went rigid, but did his best not to flinch away. He had to remind himself that Death wouldn’t harm him and that he saw him as a son, but after fearing and running away from Death for so many years, he couldn’t help the fear and discomfort he felt around the entity and the goosebumps that broke out on his skin at the innocuous contact.

Fortunately, it was brief.

“Also,” continued Death, “think about what I said about becoming my wife’s assistant. I believe you would enjoy genetic coding very much. After all, it is intellectually more stimulating than reaping souls. She may already have plenty of assistants, but one more can never hurt.”

While learning about genetics and genetic coding was intriguing to Voldemort, he was still sceptical about it, but he agreed to think about it anyway and let him know his final answer in a week’s time.

With that final reassurance, Death faded away and Voldemort finally let out a relieved breath. As if until then, something was weighing down on him, suffocating him. The thoughts about the ritual and mending his soul still felt heavy in his chest and stomach, but at least he could go about it at his own pace, with Ana by his side as his wife.


	7. Marriage Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort and Ana discuss Ana's peace treaty requirements, Voldemort makes Umbridge pay for messing with what is his and he also proposes to Ana in an unusual way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains a torture scene.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! 😇 If you notice anything, please feel free to point out any mistakes, because I feel like I might have missed something, even while editing the chapter.

While Voldemort looked forward to dinner in Ana’s company, especially since he was dying to see her in a dress, he also felt nervous, because both breakfast and lunch proved to be awkward at best with neither of them managing to have and maintain a proper conversation.

He let out a sigh, passing his hands over the face. He needed to put more effort into their interactions; otherwise, he couldn’t expect things to move forward between them. However, that was easier said than done.

Mentally steeling himself for the task ahead, he rose to his feet and walked to the dining room, where he waited for Ana to join him. As he waited, he was trying to think of the topics they could talk about with ease. Maybe he could ask her what she thought of the dresses that Phobos bought for her, or how she spent the afternoon.

His thoughts were interrupted by her arrival. He lifted his gaze and felt his breath hitch in his chest as he took in Ana’s appearance. The first thing that he noticed was her dress. A beautiful emerald-green sleeveless vintage style dress decorated with flowers and butterflies fit her bodice while the knee-length skirt flared from her waist down. Then, he let his eyes roam the exposed skin of her arms and neck, until his eyes came to her face, immediately drawn to her bright, emerald-green eyes behind her glasses and her long, messy and curly black hair styled in a half-updo.

She greeted him, fidgeting nervously with her hands and with slightly flushed cheeks. He returned her greeting and waited for her to sit left from him. When she did, she busied herself looking at the table.

He cleared his throat ever so slightly. “You,” he started, “you look … beautiful.” He almost choked on the last word. She glanced briefly at him, before her face became bright red and she returned her gaze to the table.

“T-Thank you,” she said in a small voice. “For the compliment and the dresses.”

He nodded stiffly. “You’re welcome.” There was a beat of silence as they began eating the appetizer. “Do you like it?” he asked. “The dress, I mean.”

A timid smile graced her features. “Yes, I like both dresses very much.”

More silence.

“Were they your idea or did Phobos think of it?”

“I told him to get you something elegant and feminine,” he said casually, shrugging. “He supposed I was referring to a dress. I simply confirmed his interpretation of my order and gave him the money. The rest was up to him.”

“I see.”

They didn’t speak again until the main dish.

“Have you managed to write something for the treaty?” he asked her.

“I have,” she answered with a smile. “In fact, I already have everything written down.”

“Excellent,” he said. “You can hand it to me after dinner, so we can look it over and discuss it.”

She nodded.

The rest of the meal was spent in silence, but at least they would be talking again once she brought him her part of the treaty and while she was nervous to see his reaction to her ‘requirements’, she was also looking forward to it.

As they finished eating, they both went upstairs, Ana to her room to get the parchment she was writing on and Voldemort to his study, where they would look it over. He was curious to see what she wrote.

“Here it is,” she announced as she joined him in the study and handed him the parchment.

He gestured her to sit in the chair opposite his, before he gave the list a cursory look. The first thing he noticed was that there weren’t many points. “You don’t seem to have many requirements and conditions,” he commented, looking at her.

“What can I say?” she began. “I’m not a very demanding person. If I put any more than this, I would feel like I’m taking advantage of the situation … and you.”

He didn’t say anything, he simply looked at her with an unreadable look for a few long moments, before nodding slightly and focussing on the list again. This time, he was going to go point by point, saying a couple of words for each one.

Under the first point, she had a concise list of people who are to be left alone, either because they had previously died and weren’t supposed to or because she wanted to grant them immunity in the new regime. He didn’t have much to say about her choice of names, they were mostly students, teachers, friends, a few Order members and even some snatchers and Death Eaters. He wasn’t really surprised to note that Pettigrew’s, Umbridge’s and Bellatrix’s names were absent from the list, what _did_ surprise him was to see Severus’ name on it.

“I don’t have much to dispute with you on your first point,” he said in a business tone. “I’ll see that my followers are informed who on the opposing side is to be left alone as I expect the Order to be informed of the list of names on my side that are granted immunity until their time arrives and respect it.”

“I don’t know if I can speak for the entire Order, but I’m sure that you could meet up with them to speak and convince them to agree and sign the treaty. Right now, you have the upper hand since you control the Ministry,” she said in a similar tone. “You can make contact with the Order through a radio announcement or any other wizarding public venue.”

He liked that idea. “I’ll think about how I want to go about it, but you make a good point. That being said, I don’t understand why you want to protect Severus Snape.” He narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Any particular reason or pure sentimentality?”

She tensed a bit under his scrutinising gaze that made her nervous, hot and sweaty. “Aside from him not being destined to die yet,” she said collectedly, “I know that his actions against you put him in peril. I may have never had a good relationship with him, but I don’t think he deserves to suffer any more than he already has. You can count this as sentimentality, but … I don’t want him to be tortured by anybody, not you, Death Eaters or the Order. If anything, I think he should be able to have a say about what he wants to do without having to fear for his life.”

He didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity. He simply scrutinised her while thinking over her words. When he finally said something, she felt relieved to hear him say, “Fair enough. Moving on.”

He returned his gaze to her list to look at the second point: No Death Eaters as part of Hogwarts teaching staff.

“Can you elaborate a bit on your second point? Because as it stands it is extremely discriminating not to let _any_ Death Eaters teach at Hogwarts.”

“When you took over Hogwarts and assigned the Carrows and a few others at school, they didn’t do much _quality teaching_ ,” she frowned. “Instead, they tortured students from all years almost as badly as Umbridge with her blood quill, forcing them to perform the Cruciatus Curse on fellow students as discipline.” She traced the faint scarring on her left hand left by the blood quill. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Voldemort.

“If that is how having Death Eaters as teachers is going to look like,” she continued, resolute, “then I don’t want a single one near a student should they forget themselves accidentally,” she snarled, glaring venomously. “However, if there is a Death Eater who genuinely likes children, has enough patience and energy to deal with kids and teenagers and has passion for a subject, even if it is the Dark Arts, then I don’t see why they shouldn’t teach.”

“Point taken. I will make sure to keep those who aren’t suitable for teaching away, however, I do want to introduce and change a few subjects and staff members. As you mentioned, Dark Arts being one of them.”

“As long as students below fifteen aren’t forced to perform dark rituals or spells, you can introduce Dark Arts into the curriculum,” she told him calmly. “The same goes for any staff member change. As long as they show they are capable of handling children and adolescents and know their field of studies, there shouldn’t be any problems in hiring them.”

“Then you agree that we paraphrase this point in the final version of the treaty?”

“Yes.”

He circled the point and added a few notes next to it. “What happened to your left hand?” he asked offhandedly, not taking his eyes off the parchment.

Ana froze, unable to form words. When she didn’t answer, he looked up. “Do I have to repeat myself or are you going to answer my question?” he said sternly.

He noticed her paling and swallowing hard, clutching her left hand and staring blankly at the desk. “B-Blood quill,” she breathed. “Fifth year. Detention.”

“Show it to me,” he demanded in a calm voice.

Reluctantly, she placed her scarred hand on the desk for him to inspect it. He took her hand in his and traced the line that read ‘I must not tell lies’. He didn’t show it, but he felt his blood boiling with rage. Someone hurt Ana when she was still his horcrux. Someone made her carve that line into her own flesh and he wanted to know whom he had to hunt down for it. From what she said about Umbridge and the blood quill, he supposed he already had his answer, but he wanted to be certain.

“Who?” was all he said.

“Umbridge.”

He nodded, not uttering a word. He didn’t care how long that piece of human and wizard garbage had to live, he was going to be her judge, jury and executioner for daring to harm what was his. In the meantime, he was going to find something to remove the scarring for good.

“I’ll see what ointment I can find to remove the scarring completely,” he told her, before letting go of her hand and returning to the parchment.

She nodded, tucking her hand into her lap. “Thank you.”

They moved onto the third point she had written down: Immediate release of the wandmaker Garrick Ollivander.

“As soon as we sign the treaty, I will personally go to Malfoy Manor and release him from the cell.”

“I hope that in the meantime you will refrain from torturing him,” she added in a cool tone.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You can rest assured that I’ll be too busy with other errands to spare time for someone like him,” he answered dryly.

Point four was mainly about excessive torture. She added a note, saying he could still torture people, but only in extreme cases of transgression, especially if those transgressions involved his person.

“So …” he sighed, “you want me to find other venues of discipline to keep supporters and those who oppose me in check.”

“Like I wrote, you can still torture people who have attempted directly against your life, but those who simply oppose you through words, written or spoken, or those who have failed to carry out an order of minor importance shouldn’t have to fear being submitted to torture.”

He sneered. “Then what alternate punishment would you propose?”

“First, you should always issue a warning. If the transgression keeps repeating, you sanction them, either by lowering their salary or even firing them from their job. Depending on the gravity, you can even imprison them.”

“Would you be alright with forced heavy labour, then?” he asked, smirking shrewdly.

“You mean mining, construction and the like?”

“Yes … or jobs that no one would willingly want to undertake, especially without magic, such as picking up garbage, cleaning toilets … we have to keep the streets and buildings clean. Simply locking people up is not productive or beneficial for the community. They would still have to earn their meals, living quarters and clothing somehow, otherwise they become parasites of society, and I don’t want parasites in my country,” he said resolutely.

“I wouldn’t have anything against it,” she said.

“And is there a crime that you would be willing to give out a death sentence?” he pressed further.

She thought for a moment. Her pensive frown transformed into a hard glare as she said, “Yes, there is … rape. Simply castrating or mutilating the perpetrators isn’t enough. They would still be able to find ways to violate someone if left alive.”

“True,” he agreed.

The fifth and final point was about Ana herself. She declares not to cause any wilful kind of harm to him directly or indirectly if he in turn guarantees not to harm her or her child wilfully, directly or indirectly.  

“I don’t have any complaints as far as the last point is concerned, though, I do think that the non-aggression point should apply to the entire Order as well,” he said shrewdly. “If they surrender without trying to pull off anything against me and my rule, now or in the future, they won’t have to worry about me coming after them.”

“Agreed,” she said readily. “When you draw up a contract with them, feel free to make it general, these points are just my personal requirements, you can expand them to encompass more people.”

“We’ll leave your requirements as is, except adjusting a few details here and there and adding my own personal requirements,” he said with finality. “I’ll draw up a separate contract for my negotiations with the Order.” He locked gazes with her. “Is there anything else you would like to add?”

“The persecution of muggleborns and muggles … it has to stop,” she said with determination, even when she felt her heart thrumming in her chest with apprehension. “Muggleborns are every bit as magical as half-bloods and pure-bloods and if the disregard for wizarding rituals and customs in muggleborns bothers pure-bloods so much, why don’t they take the time to educate them about them? As for muggles, I know how despicable they can be, but so can wizards. Just like how there are bad muggles, there are bad wizards and to treat them as inferior might come back to haunt us. After all, they outnumber us and they have advanced weaponry that could wipe us out in seconds if they learnt of our existence and saw us as a threat or, if they felt generous enough, they might imprison us for experiments.”

“All the more reason to hunt them.”

“Even if you manage to reduce their numbers below ours, it wouldn’t benefit the wizard kind in the long-term, because we would eventually run out of genetic variety and turn to inbreeding out of necessity. And anyone who has basic knowledge of genetics knows how detrimental inbreeding is to the offspring.”

“Then we keep them enslaved with the Imperius Curse,” said Voldemort simply. “If they can’t think for themselves, then they can’t hurt us.”

Ana frowned. “Ignoring the ethical and moral qualms of such an act; is such a thing even technically and logistically possible to achieve?” she wondered, confused.

“With the current number of muggles in the world, no, but if we thin out their numbers, we can pull it off,” he said casually, as if he was talking about weather.

She looked at him, slightly horrified. “Why do you have to solve everything with murder?” she asked him, genuinely curious.

“And why are you so intent on saving everybody?” he narrowed his eyes at her, leaning forward. “If I recall correctly, you are not responsible for deciding who lives and who dies.”

“Yes,” she huffed incredulously, “I know I don’t, but you don’t have that power either, yet you act like you do. Just because Death sees you as his son and you have been helping him reap souls, doesn’t mean you can go out of your way to kill people who weren’t meant to die yet.” By the time she ended her little rant, she was leaning forward too, just a few inches away from his face.

He glared at her, clenching his teeth, but said nothing. She held his gaze with a determined look in her eyes, even though beneath her collected façade, she was a nervous wreck. There was tension between them, but instead of pushing each other away, it almost felt like they were two opposite electric charges, with Ana being the positive one and Voldemort being the negative one, creating a force field, attracting each other. In the end, Voldemort pulled back, leaning against the back of his chair again.

“Then what would you have me do about muggles, Saint Ana?” he sneered.

She also settled back in her chair. Her frown deepened. “For one, let them be. If it does come to violence and killing on their part, then strike back as an act of self-preservation. However, since you are so eager to kill muggles regardless, then maybe you could ask Death to provide you with an Upcoming Deaths list of your own featuring muggles,” she said sarcastically.

“Good idea. Unfortunately, I’m not his assistant,” he pointed out gleefully just to spite her.

“Not that such a minor detail has stopped you before,” she retorted.

Voldemort’s grin widened. “True,” he allowed.

She was feisty … but in a good way. Her current demeanour reminded him of how she looked while she was target practicing, how she looked when she stalked the snatchers in the forest. He felt a pleasant shiver go through his body and he felt his groin stirring and hardening in his robes. Damnation, he cursed. This wasn’t the place nor the time to get aroused.

He cleared his throat and shifted slightly in his chair. “It’s getting late, if that’s everything, then I suggest you retire to bed for the night.”

The abrupt end of their conversation confused Ana, but a glance to the window and the blackness outside, told her it was indeed quite late. It didn’t feel like much time had passed to her, but maybe she was so into her conversation with Voldemort that she lost track of time. “Indeed.”

“I will take your last point into account,” he said all business-like, no grin or mischievousness from a moment ago, looking at the parchment, adding the sixth bullet point to the list. “I will see you at breakfast. Have a good night.”

‘ _What happened?_ ’ she wondered. ‘ _Did I say or do something?_ ’ She couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by his dismissive and indifferent behaviour, but she did her best not to show it and simply nodded, stood up and walked to the door. There, she paused with a hand on her handle and said, “Good night to you as well.”

With that, she left the study and Voldemort immediately let go of the list and the quill and just slumped, sighing heavily, in the chair still half-hard. He ran his hands over his face and just stared at the ceiling.

‘ _Curse everything_ ,’ he thought grimly, focussing every bit of energy into willing down his erection, because no matter how tempted he was to experiment and touch himself, he refused to succumb to it. ‘ _Curse everything to hell and back_.’ However, no matter how much he tried, the snippets of his moments with Ana throughout the day and her memories kept flashing before his eyes and the beautiful sound of her voice kept echoing inside his head were making it harder for him to stop feeling aroused.

‘ _I need a shower_ ,’ he concluded, before apparating in his bathroom and standing under cold water for a while.

…

“Marvolo?” she called, lying on her side in bed. Marvolo was sitting next to her head, running his ghostly fingers through her hair.

“What is it?”

“Did I do or say something wrong?” she was referring to her interaction with Voldemort.

“No, you didn’t,” he assured her.

“Then why did his attitude and demeanour change completely towards the end?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but if I had to guess, I would say he found himself experiencing something he’s not used to experiencing.”

Ana frowned. “Like what?” she wondered, confused.

He smirked, recalling the expression used by Voldemort’s pet snake … _Excitement_. He could tease Ana by bringing it up to her attention, but instead, he opted for an enigmatic, “I wonder.”

…

_4 August 1997_

“Today, I’ll be absent for most of the day,” he informed her at breakfast the next morning. “I have a few errands to take care of.”

“Oh, okay,” she answered. She sounded and looked dejected at the news.

“If you need anything, you only need call Phobos or Nagini. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind keeping you company.”

“Of course.” There was a beat of silence. “Will you be back by dinner?” she asked him tentatively.

“Yes.”

The rest of the breakfast was spent in silence, yet when he was about to leave, she wished him a safe trip. Not used to anyone seeing him off like this, he didn’t know how to react to it, so he nodded curtly and disapparated away, feeling a warm and tingling sensation in his chest.

…

His first stop was the Ministry. More specifically, Dolores Umbridge.

After gaining information about the location of her office, he went there, completely bypassing the locked door, and waited for the woman to return from her questioning session.

He grimaced at the sight of the pink interior and walls covered in dishes with moving cat designs. He sat at the desk and looked through the drawers for the blood quill. When he found it, he called for Death.

“Have you already decided about what we spoke last night?” asked the entity the moment it appeared before him.

“No,” he said with a scowl.

“Then why have you summoned me, Tom?”

“I want to ask for permission to kill someone who is not due to die in a while.”

“Oh,” breathed Death, “and who might that person be?”

“Dolores Umbridge,” said Voldemort with a dark look.

“Is there a particular reason you want to kill her?” inquired Death.

“She made Ana write with a blood quill so often it left a scar behind,” he snarled venomously.

Death regarded him for a while, and then nodded. “Very well. You have my permission to do it. Just don’t let it become a habit,” he warned.

Voldemort smirked. “Ana said that I should ask you for a list of upcoming deaths so I could go on a killing spree every day.”

Death let out a deep chuckle. “Yes, that does sound like something you would enjoy greatly, but first you have to become my assistant officially. Today is an exception, because I would never deny a son of mine the right to exact revenge on people who’ve hurt their wife.”

Voldemort cleared his throat. “About that … If everything goes well, Ana and I might get married soon.”

“I hope you know what you are doing, Tom,” said Death sternly. “I told you not to play with Ana’s emotions.”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. I know what you said and don’t worry; I don’t intend to make her unhappy.” He paused for a moment. “But I also can’t promise to make her happy, because I don’t know how to do that.”

Death let out a sigh, but didn’t argue with him. “If you say so, Tom. If you say so. Just remember my words, because I’ll know if you hurt or make her unhappy.”

With that, Death faded away. Voldemort sighed deeply and pinched the base of his nose. He checked the time and hoped the bitch would return to her office soon, because he still had to arrange everything for the marriage contract, modify the peace treaty between him and Ana, and look for the scar removing ointment for her. He refused to let another leave a permanent mark on her of any kind.

He leaned back in the chair, rested his arms on the armrests and intertwined his fingers. He should probably set up a silencing charm around the room, so other people wouldn’t be able to hear Umbridge’s screams. The last thing he wanted was other people interrupting his torture session.

…

When Umbridge entered, she let out a surprised yelp at the sight of him, but quickly recovered. “My Lord?” she said tentatively in that squeaky whimper that got on his nerves.

He said nothing. He only limited himself to scrutinising her with his indecipherable look, while twirling the blood quill in his hands.

“What an honour to have you here. How may I be of service to you?” Her voice shook ever so slightly, she was pale and her frame was tense.

He stood up slowly and gestured at the chair he was occupying just a moment ago. “If you’d like to take a seat, we can talk more comfortably that way.” His voice was smooth and neutral. The woman in obnoxious pink obliged.

“When you were teaching at Hogwarts roughly two years ago,” he started pacing behind her, “I hear that you used a very … creative disciplinary measure. A quill that uses the blood of whoever is writing with it instead of ink and, if used enough times, it can leave behind scars, isn’t that right?”

Umbridge tensed in her seat. “That is correct, my Lord.”

“I must say it’s a truly fascinating and impressive dark artefact,” he said, slightly impressed. “Though, I must confess that I have never seen it before. In fact, I believe there is no such quill on the market, legal or illegal.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I devoted a lot of time and effort into developing the quill,” she said proudly. “It was designed with disciplining unruly and lying children, such as Ana Potter, in mind. At the beginning, there was only one quill, the prototype, but as the number of rebellious and naughty children began increasing, I had to increase the number of samples.”

“I see,” he said in a neutral tone from behind her to conceal his boiling rage. “Well, if you don’t mind, I would like to test the product.”

“Most certainly, my Lord,” she said in a high-pitched giggle. “I will call for a mudblood subject immediately.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said lightly, smiling. Umbridge looked at him, confused. “Because I already have my test subject.”

“Who is it?”

He smirked and a maniacal glint shone in his blood red eyes. “You, Miss Umbridge.”

All colour drained from her face reflected pure horror. “I don’t understand, my Lord,” she breathed.

“It’s really not that hard to understand,” he said casually. “You see, you marked Ana Potter with this.” He waved with the feathered part of the quill in front of the pink toad’s face. “And I don’t like that.” His eyes hardened, making Umbridge’s blood freeze in her veins. “You dared mark something that is mine, because that’s what Ana Potter is … _mine_. I’m the only one who can leave marks of any kind on her, not the Death Eaters, not the Snatchers, not the Dementors and most certainly not you.”

Umbridge shivered violently, beads of cold sweat covering her face.

“You must be punished for your transgression, because that’s what this quill is, a punishing device, and you’ve overstepped your boundaries when you decided it was a good idea to use this quill on Ana Potter.”

“I apologise, my Lord … I-I did not know she was yours. I-I was only doing my job as an authority figure, instilling order and discipline in misbehaving children.”

“Well, I’m only instilling order and discipline in misbehaving servants,” countered Voldemort nonchalantly, using Umbridge’s words against her. “Take it and start writing lines,” he ordered and she whimpered.

“Please, no,” she begged, but he repeated his command. When she refused, he cast a crucio at her. Her blood-curdling screams filled the soundproof room. He held her under it for a few seconds, and then released her.

She gasped for air, her limbs shaking.

“Don’t make me repeat myself a third time, because there’s only so much patience I can muster,” he snarled.

She sniffed, but complied.

“Very good. Now,” he straightened his back, clasping his hands behind his back and started pacing behind her again, “I want you to write ‘ _I deserve to die_ ’ at least a hundred times. Hopefully it will be enough to _sink in_. If not, you’ll continue to write until I’m satisfied with the results.”

She hesitated, so, he encouraged her by placing her under another round of crucio. This one lasted a few seconds more than the previous one.

Reluctantly, she placed the quill’s tip to the parchment and began writing her lines. Voldemort observed every time the words carved into the woman’s flesh, healed, and then carved into the flesh again. By the time she was finished with the hundredth repetition, the cuts didn’t heal anymore, instead the words were bright and clear on the pale skin, Umbridge was in tears, and she looked to be experiencing some light-headedness. However, he was still not quite satisfied.

After about another fifty repetitions, it became monotonous. So, instead, he tied her to the chair, put on some dragonhide gloves and a mask, walked to the jug of water, poured it in the glass, transformed it into acid and returned to Umbridge.

“You must be thirsty from all that sobbing and screaming.”

She eyed the glass with fear. He pressed the rim of the glass to her lips. Umbridge let out a disgusted whimper at the smell of smelly socks and rotten eggs and refused to open her mouth. She even turned her face away from it.

“Come now,” encouraged Voldemort, his voice coming out distorted, while his fingers grabbed her face and began putting pressure on her jaw to pry it open, “don’t be modest. Drink up this refreshing glass of highly concentrated sulphuric acid. You’ll feel better right away.”

The pressure and pain were too much to bear and she let out an open-mouthed scream, something Voldemort took advantage of and started pouring the liquid into her mouth. Umbridge struggled and gurgled, making the acid run down the corners of her mouth, but some of it still managed to go down her throat.

He closed off her nasal canal by pinching her nostrils together and forced her to swallow the liquid. Once he was satisfied with the amount of acid he managed to empty into her throat, he stepped back, rid himself of the contaminated gloves and observed the writhing and screaming pile of agony that was Umbridge.

The skin that was exposed to the acid was rapidly turning black as the acid burnt through the flesh, filling the room with the smell of burnt flesh. Her gut-wrenching screams were like music to his ears and while it didn’t last long before she died, it was worth seeing her be eaten from the inside.

Feeling light-headed and nauseous from the smell of acid and burnt flesh, but infinitely satisfied, he left the office and made his way to the apothecary to get a scar-removing ointment.

…

When he found the salve he was looking for, he apparated to the Malfoy Manor to take a quick bath, because he couldn’t come home to Ana smelling like burnt meat, and to write the marriage contract and add his points to the peace treaty.

While he was there, he also gathered his inner circle so he could tell them to cease any search or attack on Ana Potter and her friends.

“But why, my Lord?” questioned Bellatrix.

“I will tell you all in a few days. Right now, do as I say.” He encompassed all his followers with a look. “I trust you will be able to spread the word to the lower-tier members of our cause,” said Voldemort. “Snatchers and Dementors as well.”

A chorus of ‘Yes, my Lord’ resounded in the Malfoy dining room.

“Excellent. Lucius,” he addressed him, “I will visit the dungeons.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

He planned to release Ollivander, even though, technically speaking, the peace treaty hadn’t entered into force yet, but he figured it would be easier for him to set the old man free now than at a later date. After all, he had no use for him anymore.

The metal door rattled and he approached the prisoner. “Ollivander,” he said jovially, “today is your lucky day. You are free.”

The wandmaker looked wary. “Are you going to kill me?”

“What makes you think I will kill you?” He wondered, slightly confused.

“You will take me to some deserted place under the guise of freedom and kill me. I have outlived my usefulness to you anyway.”

“You are correct about your usefulness,” agreed Voldemort. “I have absolutely no use for you, but that doesn’t mean I will kill you. In fact, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it right here.”

“If you don’t plan to kill me, then why are you freeing me now?”

“Because Ana Potter asked for your release as part of our truce,” he informed him. “I am merely fulfilling my part of the contract.”

Ollivander’s silver eyes widened in shock. “A truce … with Ana Potter?” he repeated incredulously.

“Yes, I just said that,” deadpanned Voldemort.

“Why would she form a truce with you?”

“She has her reasons. Now,” he grabbed him by his upper arm and pulled him to his feet, “get up and come with me.” Ollivander obliged with his command and he guided him outside the manor and apparated away with him in front of St. Mungo’s.

The wandmaker blinked dumbfounded at the sign.

“I trust you can find your way from here,” said Voldemort cordially and left a confused Ollivander blinking at the spot he was standing a moment ago.

…

He returned to the manor in time for afternoon tea. However, just as he was about to enter through the front door, he thought he heard hissing, mixed with giggling, come from the outside. He followed the sound and just as he turned around the corner of the house, he spotted Ana sitting on a cloth, nibbling on a biscuit, with Nagini coiled beside her and his locket horcrux floating behind her, his spectral arms wrapped around her.

Voldemort’s hands clenched into fists, his jaw tensed and there was a churning sensation in his stomach and chest at the sight. He was supposed to be in the locket’s position. He had a physical body; he was the one who is going to be her husband soon; why was then his horcrux the one close to her and not him?

He tried to listen in on the conversation, but he was too far to hear anything clearly. He thought he caught his name a few times, but nothing substantial.

He approached them and Ana was the first to notice him. Her lips morphed into a bright smile at the sight of him. “Voldemort,” she greeted him, “you’re back. Nagini wanted to show me her favourite spot for sunbathing, so, I decided to have my afternoon snack here with her,” she explained cheerfully. “Would you like to join us?” She patted the empty space next to her.

“Why not.” He sat down and she offered him a biscuit.

“I’m not particularly fond of sweets.”

“Then perhaps some fruit? We have some raspberries and blueberries here.” She offered him the little bowl with the fruit. “Phobos went to the market to get them.”

He grabbed a handful of raspberries and blueberries and she placed the bowl on the cloth again.

“How did it go?” she asked, placing a raspberry in her mouth. “Did you manage to do everything you planned?”

Voldemort’s eyes focussed on Ana’s lips and the way they moved as she chewed and savoured that raspberry. They looked soft and plump, more pink than red, and they glistened ever so slightly.

With how engrossed he was looking at her mouth, he barely registered her question. “It went well,” he tore his eyes away from her lips, clearing his throat. “And I managed to do everything I had in mind.”

“That’s great.” She flashed him a smile.

This time, her glittering eyes, her smooth skin, and her hair that gave off a blueish hue in the sunlight distracted him. He cursed mentally again and focussed on eating the forest fruit in his hand. He wondered what kind of a reaction she would have to him killing Umbridge. Probably, she wouldn’t be thrilled about it.

He glanced over her shoulder at his horcrux.

“Are you always so close to her?” he couldn’t help but ask more than a little irritated at the locket.

“Yes. Why? Does it bother you?” he smirked.

He wanted to say yes, but he managed to refrain from saying it. Instead, he said, “Not at all,” as nonchalantly as he could. “I am simply amazed by it.”

He remembered the salve he bought for Ana’s scars. He reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said, holding the ointment to her, “for your hand scar.”

Ana looked dazed at the bottle. She carefully accepted it, traced the sticker on it and looked up to meet his eyes. “Thank you.” There was a soft look in her emerald eyes and a soft smile danced on her lips.

“I did say I was going to get you something for the scar,” he said, curt and stiff, feeling strange receiving gratitude from her again.

Her smile widened. “You did say, yes.”

“The apothecary said you should apply it directly onto the scar and re-apply it every two hours. The scarring should be gone in a week, more or less.”

She uncorked the bottle, applied some of the salve directly onto her scarred hand, and let it do its thing. After a few minutes, she started experiencing a tingling almost prickling sensation.

“That means it’s healing,” he retorted, when she mentioned it to him.

Silence settled between them.

“Before I interrupted your conversation,” he started, trying to appear as uninterested as possible, “what were you and Nagini talking about?”

“She told me more about herself, how lonely she felt for decades, because she wasn’t like other snakes. I think she mentioned having another form before being a snake, but her memory is fuzzy.”

“Yes, I believe she was a human once, a Maledictus actually.”

“What’s a Maledictus?”

“It’s a female who carries a blood curse,” explained Voldemort. “The blood curse is present from the moment of their birth and it is only transferable from mother to daughter. Depending on the curse, the woman carrying it is destined to turn into a beast permanently, eventually. In Nagini’s case, her curse turned her into a snake. Before the curse becomes permanent, the Maledictus can transform into their beast form at will.”

Ana was speechless. “So … Nagini is a human trapped in an animal body?”

“Essentially, yes. However, she’s been a snake for long enough that the animal instincts have taken over. She thinks and behaves more like an animal than a human being, yet possesses more intelligence and a significantly longer life span than normal snakes.”

“I see,” she said impressed. “Well … as I was saying. She also told me a bit about how you two met in a forest and why she decided to help you … or rather adopt you.” She giggled.

Voldemort smirked at Nagini and reached out to pet her head. She leaned into his pets.

“ _My hatchling_ ,” she hissed content.

His throat constricted and his chest hurt at the thought that she would eventually have to die so he could reunite with the soul piece inside her. No, he refused to kill her, he would just have to wait for her to grow old and pass away from old age. It’s not as if he was in a hurry to become an assistant either to Life or Death … Okay, maybe he wanted to be Death’s assistant, because then he could go on authorised daily killing sprees without Ana reacting too badly to him killing people, but he wouldn’t trade it for Nagini’s life.

She had done so much for him during the years they’ve been together that he couldn’t sacrifice the one being that was there for him unconditionally. She let him possess her as a wraith. When he gained his rudimentary body, she was more than glad to nurse him. She never lectured him on how killing was bad or wrong, if anything, she encouraged and understood his desire and necessity to torture and kill.

She also more than happily volunteered to house a fragment of his soul, but now, he wished he had chosen something else as a vessel, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty. How was he to know that everything would turn out the way it had; with Ana becoming Death’s assistant through pure coincidence and that him killing her allowed Ana to return to life pregnant with his child, nine months prior to him killing her? He wasn’t a seer to see the future!

A while later, Phobos came to inform them about dinner.

“There’s something I would like to discuss with you after dinner,” he told Ana as they made their way into the mansion. She looked at him and nodded.

“Alright.”

…

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked when they were both sitting in his study.

“I managed to modify our peace treaty list,” he replied, passing the parchment to her.

He didn’t change or add much, aside from the things they have discussed and agreed to change. The only two things he added anew were that she was not to obstruct his conquest of the Magical Britain in any way and that, while she was free to object and make suggestions to improve his rule, she was not to sabotage or undermine his authority in any capacity. She was also free to conclude her education if she so wished and what surprised her the most was a note alongside her point about Ollivander’s release.

She looked up at him in wonder. “You already released him?”

He shrugged, displaying indifference. “I was visiting the Malfoy Manor to inform my followers not to attack you or your friends, no need to drag it out unnecessarily and make it into a multiple-day-long ordeal.”

“You already spoke with the Death Eaters too?” She couldn’t believe it.

“A bit, I didn’t tell them much nor did I give them the entire list of names that are to be immune, however, I plan to have another meeting in a few days, after we’ve signed the official copy of the peace treaty at Gringotts.”

She nodded numbly, her mouth slightly open in astonishment.

“Another thing,” he added, reaching for another piece of parchment. “I want you to read this carefully and then give me an answer.”

She reluctantly took the parchment, unfolded it and started reading:

**Draft for the Marriage Contract**

between

_Tom Marvolo Riddle (Lord Voldemort)_

and

_Ana Potter_

Tom Marvolo Riddle (also known as Lord Voldemort) (hereinafter: husband) and Ana Potter (hereinafter: wife) agree to enter into marriage following the following set of lawfully and magically binding clauses:

  * **No-divorce clause:** Once married, husband and wife **cannot** **for the remainder of their lives** file for a divorce. They are to remain married **regardless** of the situation and the circumstances.
  * **Fidelity clause:** Husband and wife agree to remain **faithful** to each other **for the duration of their marriage**. Faithfulness includes **not** seeking sexual intercourse with other people, developing romantic and/or sexual feelings for other individuals or having illicit thoughts about others.
  * **Heir clause:** Husband and wife will produce _at least_ **one** **biological offspring** , unless either of them is suffering from fertility issues and thus cannot conceive a child naturally. **All** children **must** be conceived from the spouses. Children conceived out of wedlock in any form will be aborted. If carried to term, the children will be killed.
  * **Intimacy clause:** Husband and wife will **not** force intimate interaction, sexual intercourse or certain sexual acts if the other party feels uncomfortable performing certain intimate acts. Specific undesirable intimate acts will be discussed and determined in person. Notwithstanding, husband and wife are **required** to **kiss** _at least_ **once a day, every day**.
  * **No-violence clause** : Husband and wife will **not** cause their spouse **any** **intentional** physical or emotional harm. Insults, disrespect and humiliation **prohibited** (unless part of ‘ _dirty talking_ ’ and both spouses derive pleasure from it). Bantering and joking allowed and encouraged.



Note: Disappointment and frustration that might result as an unwanted side effect from certain spouse’s actions and words do not qualify as violence. (e.g. If husband says or does something that wife doesn’t like, but it does not directly affect her (e.g. kills or tortures people), the wife’s frustration, which is a side effect of the husband’s words and actions, does not qualify as violence on the wife.)

Due to Tom Marvolo Riddle and Ana Potter’s immortality the punishment for infringement cannot end in death of either of them, however, should one or both of them violate a clause or several of the above stated clauses, the punishment may vary according to the gravity of the offence:

  * An insult of any kind that causes distress in the spouse will result in the offender’s mouth feeling on fire for **two minutes**.
  * A physical injury inflicted with the intention to harm the spouse will result in the offender feeling the same physical pain as their partner.
  * Violation of the intimacy clause may result in either flogging or even castration and other genital and corporeal mutilations.
  * Violation of the fidelity clause will result in genital and corporeal mutilations and prolonged torture. Torture can last anywhere from **a year** to **eternity**.
  * Conceiving a child out of marriage will result in genital and corporeal mutilations and prolonged torture. Torture can last anywhere from **a year** to **eternity**.



Due to the irrevocability of the no-divorce clause, there are no punishments for its infringement, since it cannot be infringed.

By signing this document, Tom Marvolo Riddle and Ana Potter irrevocably agree to uphold the spousal duties, obligations and restrictions set by this contract.

The contents of the contract will enter into force from the moment they are declared husband and wife.

 

__________________________

_Husband’s signature_

__________________________

_Wife’s signature_

…

By the time Ana reached the end of the document, she was lost for words. Unsure of what to think, she looked up at Voldemort, who wore an indifferent expression.

She blinked a few times, took a deep breath and swallowed thick to gather her thoughts. “Voldemort,” she said tentatively, “… a-are you proposing me marriage?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”


	8. Husband and Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort and Ana get married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that the marriage contract stirred up quite a response, and as I have pointed out to some of my reviewers, the contract's final form will be determined in this chapter with Ana and Voldemort discussing it point by point. Hopefully all of you concerned over fidelity and heir clauses will find this chapter giving you a satisfied resolution to you questions and doubts. 😇
> 
> But just as a reminder: as an author (mainly a Tomarrymort author), I will NEVER put neither Voldemort (fem!Voldemort) nor Harry (fem!Harry) through something as horrible as rape. If that is what you like to read, there are plenty of other fics that cover that topic, I will stay away from it.

“Are you sure about it?” she asked him. “I don’t want you to regret marrying me for … eternity.”

He snorted. “I’ve given it enough thought, wouldn’t you say? If I wasn’t so sure I probably wouldn’t have come up with such an elaborate marriage contract,” he countered. “Feel free to think about it and if you have any questions or doubts regarding any of the points, go ahead and say it.”

Her eyes returned to the contract and began examining it point by point in a very similar fashion he examined her peace treaty requirements. “May I have something to write with?” she asked.

“Here.” He passed her the quill.

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat and said, “I don’t have much to say about the first clause because, what is the point of marrying someone, if you do it with divorce in mind? Marriage is a life-time commitment, in which you uphold the marriage vows of staying together through thick and thin, not wanting out at the first sign of difficulty, or resorting to infidelity.”

“I’m glad we are on the same page on that one,” said Voldemort.

“I agree with the fidelity clause,” she continued, “however, I believe we also need to include intimate kissing and touching with other people that not necessarily involve sexual intercourse as acts that would be seen as infidelity.”

“Agreed.”

“Nevertheless, the clause only talks about voluntary infidelity. What if someone tries to force themselves on us or bewitch us with spells or potions that would influence our thoughts and feelings? In that case, we didn’t voluntarily seek the other person to be unfaithful.”

“A fair point,” he nodded. “We will include a note that will encompass such a circumstance and exempt us from guilt. However, do you seriously believe I would let anyone try to get between us in any way, shape or form?”

She swallowed nervously as she gazed into his intense red eyes. “No.”

“I know many nasty and obscure dark items and rituals that were used to protect people’s chastity, to ensure spouses’ fidelity, as well as to keep spouses safe from anyone who would have nefarious and unsavoury intentions towards them.”

His deep, soothing voice and wicked smile sent pleasant shivers down her spine, while a feeling of butterflies flapping their wings filled her stomach. She could feel her skin growing warmer and hoped she wasn’t blushing.

“However,” he continued, “should those not suffice, now that we know Magic is Death’s mother, we can always ask him to ask her if there is an even more effective way to protect someone from being forced into sex or any kind of unwanted physical contact that we don’t know about.”

Of course, he would know about that for some reason, though she agreed that knowing Death’s mother was useful for matters such as this.

“True. Although I believe we would first need to do something for her, such as what she asked me to do in limbo,” she added with an uncertain grimace.

“The moment I take over as the leader of magical Britain, which I practically already am, I will start reforming the legislation regarding magic,” he assured her. “That should be enough for her to tell us in case we are not aware of other much more effective methods of protection.”

She nodded. “And how is it that you know about such items and rituals?”

“You can see how I used to look from the physical manifestations of my horcruxes.” His gaze turned hard and cold. “I was … a very handsome man, coveted by many. While no one has ever done anything sexual to me, it’s not because they didn’t try or want to, but because I made sure they never could. Mostly, it was my magic that kept them away, but I knew it wouldn’t protect me forever, therefore as soon as I learnt that people lusted after me and that there were spells and potions to force me into intimacy with someone against my will, I began researching about ways to protect myself from them. That is how I eventually came across these enchanted items and rituals in Salazar’s library in the Chamber. The books were written in parselscript, meaning that only a parselmouth could read and understand them. Once I found a good enough ritual, I performed it and I never had to worry about unwanted attention again.”

“And what did the ritual look like?” she asked tentatively.

“There was a lot of chanting and pain involved.”

“Pain?” she said, alarmed.

“I carved myself up with runes in parselscript,” he said with indifference.

Her eyes widened and her blood froze at his words. “You carved runes into your flesh?” she repeated in a horrified whisper, glancing at his chest covered in black robes.

“Yes, and when I lost my body that night I failed to kill you, I also lost the markings on my skin. So, I would have to put myself through the same ritual again, but luckily my looks have kept people away from me.”

“Even Bellatrix?” she asked dryly, suddenly feeling irritated. “Because she certainly looks like she isn’t bothered by your current looks.”

Voldemort grimaced too. “She is a special case, it would seem.”

Apparently, she was also a special case, because she didn’t mind the idea of kissing Voldemort the way he looked now, or being intimate with him … eventually. She wasn’t sure if she could have sex with Voldemort on their wedding night if they married before the new school year started, and it had nothing to do with his appearance.

“Luckily, she obeys me and respects the boundaries enough not to attempt anything that I wouldn’t want,” he added.

She nodded. “Should I add a note to the fidelity clause, just in case?”

“Yes.”

With that, the new version of the clause looked like this:

**_Fidelity clause:_ ** _Husband and wife agree to remain **faithful** to each other **for the duration of their marriage**. Faithfulness includes **not** seeking or engaging in **any** kind of intimate physical contact (sexual intercourse, intimate kissing, intimate touching, and sexual pleasure through objects) with other people, developing romantic and/or sexual feelings for other individuals or having illicit thoughts about others._

_Note 1: Any sexual contact, feelings or thoughts that result from spells, potions and items designed to warp the perception, thinking, and behaviour of individuals do **not** count as infidelity and it does not count as violation of the clause. Third parties using physical force to force the spouses into having sexual intercourse or other physical intimate contact with them also does **not** count as infidelity and it does not count as violation of the clause._

_Note 2: To prevent either of the spouses being subjected to things mentioned in note 1 of this clause, it is of utmost importance that spouses either wear items or submit themselves to rituals that act as protection against **all** forms of forced intimacy by third parties.  _

Satisfied with the modified version of the ’fidelity clause’, they moved onto the ‘heir clause’.

“While I agree that we shouldn’t have children with other people, I think it’s cruel to kill an innocent child.”

“Well, I don’t care if you think it’s cruel,” he said nonchalantly, “I refuse to parent children that aren’t mine no matter whether they were conceived willingly or unwillingly. I wouldn’t even let a woman who would force me into sex carry the child to term. If we do not conceive the child together, then it has to die, and I don’t care how precious and innocent it is. I’m not a Samaritan.”

“And what about the child I’m expecting right now?” she asked.

“What of it?” he seemed confused by her question. “It’s our child, it might not have been conceived in a traditional way, but it is still ours.”

“I know, but according to this clause it has to die because it was conceived out of wedlock, and apparently _all_ children conceived out of wedlock have to die, including this one.”

Voldemort let out a sigh. “If you wish, you can adapt the clause in such a way that will not include the child you’re expecting right now as the child that has to die because it was conceived out of wedlock. However, a clause from the peace treaty keeps it safe and the part ‘All children must be conceived from the spouses’ of this clause also keeps it safe, but if it would make you feel better, change the clause so that it takes our child into account and doesn’t consider it as a subject to be aborted or killed.”

To ensure that no clauses were contradicting each other in this regard, Ana added a note at the end of the clause:

_Note: The only child exempt from abortion and killing is the baby that the wife is expecting at the time of the marriage ceremony since it was conceived by husband and wife, but out of wedlock._

“I don’t have much to say or add to the intimacy and no-violence clauses. I like how they are structured; I just want to know if we have to talk about wanted and unwanted sexual acts now, or can we talk about it later? Because I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about intimacy with you just yet.”

She could feel heat in her face, and her hands getting sweaty.

“If you don’t feel comfortable talking about sex with me right now, we can do it once we’re married.”

She nodded in understanding. For a second, she felt relieved, until she remembered she probably wouldn’t be comfortable with having sex with Voldemort at least the first few months of their marriage.

“About that,” she said carefully, “I don’t think I will be able to have sex with you on our wedding night or any time soon really. I’m fine with kissing and touching and hugging or even non-penetrative forms of sex and sexual pleasure, just not … dick-in-vagina sort of thing.”

She wanted to hide under ground; otherwise, she was certain she would die of embarrassment for saying something like that aloud … and in front of Voldemort.

His eyebrows arched in question. “Is there a particular reason for you not to want to have penetrative sex with me?”

“It has nothing to do with feelings of aversion or the like,” she hurried to assure him. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind being with you like you are now, it’s just that … I don’t think I’m mentally prepared for something like that at this stage in our relationship. We just went from wanting to kill each other to expecting a child together, to forming a truce to planning our marriage in a span of a couple of days and while I _do_ want to have a loving and happy family with you, I need time so that my brain can get used to it.”

She took a deep steadying breath.

“I always thought that my first time would be with the man of my dreams somewhere comfortable, decorated with flower petals, scented candles, able to see stars in the sky. Can you guarantee me there will be at least one such element when we consummate our marriage in a physical sense?”

He looked at her as if she had fallen from another planet or sprouted two extra heads.

“What’s so good about having sex with flower petals that can get tangled in your hair or somehow end in your mouth?” he huffed, looking like he ate something disgusting. “Or the candles? What if they turn over and set the whole place on fire? I know we can put out the fire quickly with magic, but I don’t want to worry about potential fires during sex … And stars … they are overrated.”

She sighed. She expected something like this, since Voldemort didn’t strike her as a romantic, but it was clear that any cliché love gestures were not going to form part of his repertoire.

“Okay, enough about that,” she changed the direction of the conversation away from intimacy and back to the contract at hand. “I have one more question about the contract.”

“Out with it, then.”

“It’s about the punishments. Who or what exactly is going to perform all the mutilations and torture should it come to it?”

“Obviously, magic will perform the according punishment as soon as the violation to any of the mentioned clauses has happened and magic will also be the one to assess the length and the extent of mutilations in severe transgressions of the contract. I can’t be the one to punish you and you can’t punish me, since there’s a clause in place that prohibits me from harming you or you harming me, so a third objective party has to carry out the punishments.”

“Shouldn’t we make it clearer, just in case?”

“If you think specifying who performs the punishments will make a big difference, then go ahead and add the bit about magic being in charge of punishments.”

She added the following statement right after the sentence about non-infringement of no-divorce clause:

_All of the above stated punishments will be performed by magic as soon as a violation has occurred._

“Can I also reword the last punishment?” she asked. She couldn’t help but feel worried that any ambiguously worded part about her already existing child would put both her and him in danger.

He gestured her to go ahead with it.

She wrote:

_Conceiving a child out of marriage (exempting the already existing child) will result in genital and corporeal mutilations and prolonged torture. Torture can last anywhere from **a year** to **eternity**. _

_Conceiving because of rape from third parties will not be a punishable offence. However, the requirements of the ‘heir clause’ will apply to such-conceived child (abortion, killing)._

Voldemort eyed the modified version of the contract. “Satisfied?”

She also gave it another quick look and nodded. “Yes.”

“Alright, now that that is out of the way,” he said, looking at her, “judging from how you were speaking after reading the contract, can I assume you agree to marry me?”

She met his heated gaze and nodded, “Yes. I will marry you.”

His lips curled in a roguish grin. “Excellent.”

“And when exactly would we get married?” Because they talked about everything else first, just not when the wedding ceremony would happen.

“By the end of this week. I was thinking Thursday or Friday, though I’m leaning more towards Thursday.”

Her eyes widened. “So soon?” she exclaimed.

“I don’t see why we should draw it out,” he shrugged, unfazed by Ana’s shock and surprise, “because the sooner we get everything done, the better.”

She relaxed a bit. “Well, yes, I suppose it is,” she allowed, “but I would imagine organising a wedding takes a while.” She knew Bill and Fleur were stressing over it quite a lot, and it took two weeks to set up everything.

“Maybe if you intend to invite guests, have a reception, and spend days looking for a wedding dress,” drawled Voldemort, “but since we won’t have any of that, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

“Where and at what hour are we even going to get married?”

“At Gringotts, at three in the afternoon. Tomorrow, I will commission them to write official versions of the peace treaty and the marriage contract and prepare everything for the bonding ceremony on the seventh. As for your dress, you can wear one of the ones Phobos bought for you.”

“What about witnesses?” she insisted. “I really don’t want to get married and not have at least my best friends there with me.”

Voldemort surveyed her with narrow, thoughtful eyes. “Are you talking about Ginger and Mudblood?” he asked.

She felt bothered by the term he used to refer to Hermione, but refrained from saying anything about it. “Yes, _Ron_ and _Hermione_ ,” she emphasised their names. “I am fine with not having a traditional wedding reception with a hundred guests and a wedding dress, but if there’s one thing I would like to have on my wedding day is the company and support of my friends. After going through so much together, it wouldn’t feel right not to take such an important step in my life with them by my side.”

He looked at her with a pensive, but hard to decipher, look. “Very well,” he conceded in the end. “If their presence at the ceremony is that important to you, I will arrange it so they are present at Gringotts on Thursday.”

She smiled. “Thank you,” she said, elated.

He nodded stiffly.

A stretch of awkward silence followed.

“One more thing.”

“What is it?”

“The contract doesn’t specify this,” she began carefully, “but, when we get married, are we going to sleep in the same bed?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he deadpanned. “We might not have penetrative sex at the beginning of our marriage, but that doesn’t mean we are going to sleep in separate rooms, much less separate beds. Just like how we will kiss every day, we will sleep together every night,” he said sternly.

“Ah, okay,” she said awkwardly, feeling slightly stupid for asking such an obvious thing. “I was just making sure I knew what to expect.” More awkward silence ensued. “Well,” she started, placing the modified document on the desk in front of Voldemort, “I will be going to bed now. I will see you tomorrow for breakfast.” She stood up and started to make her way towards the door, backwards.

He nodded again. “Have a good night,” he said.

“You too,” she returned softly and with a loving smile.

…

Just as he promised, Voldemort went to Gringotts the following morning to arrange the documents and the bonding ceremony for Thursday, as well as instruct the goblins to summon Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger on that same day for document signing, without revealing anything about the nature of the documentation and the entire procedure.

He also went to the apothecary to purchase a small and very expensive vial of Phoenix tears with a dropper included for the soul absorption ritual and a medium-sized vial of dittany to prevent scarring.

When he returned to the manor for lunch, he reported about it to Ana.

“Will you need my assistance for the ritual?” she asked, when he told her he planned to absorb the vagrant soul piece at the Gaunt Shack on Friday.

“Yes, I want you to put a few tears directly onto the wound,” he said.

“Okay,” she breathed, not looking forward to such a stressful task.

“I don’t know where exactly on my body it will appear, but when you see me bleeding, tear the clothes around that area and put the tears onto it as soon as possible,” he instructed. She nodded. “The tears should heal most of the wound if not all of it, but in case it won’t be enough, bandage it. Do you know the spell that produces bandages?”

“Uh … I don’t think so.” She shook her head, wincing apologetically. “And even if I knew, I’m known to perform bad under stress, because apparently when I’m under stress my entire bank of spells is reduced to _Stupefy_ and _Expelliarmus_.”

“And _Bombarda_ ,” added Voldemort, recalling the explosion she created at the Malfoy Manor prior to her escape with the house elf.

“And _Bombarda_ ,” she agreed with a breathy chuckle.

“We’ll practice the spell this afternoon and tomorrow,” he said. “You should be able to perform it effortlessly by Friday.”

She nodded.

“What about healing spells? Do you know any?”

“I know _Episkey_ and _Reparifors_ ,” she answered with an inflection at the end, because she wasn’t certain about the incantation for the second one.

He didn’t look impressed. She took a sip of water to wash away some of the embarrassment.

“In addition to _Ferula_ , which is the incantation for the bandaging charm, you will also learn _Vulnera_ Sanentur, which heals deep gashes.”

The spell incantation sounded familiar, as if she had seen it somewhere. Of course, the Potions textbook from her sixth year!

“You will have to apply the essence of dittany first as well to prevent any scarring, but you will still bandage the wounded place regardless,” he instructed.

“Understood.”

“Another thing. Tell me you know how to levitate incapacitated people.”

“Well … I’ve never used it,” she said tentatively, “but I think the incantation for it is _Mobilicorpus_.”

“Exactly. You will practice it, so that in case I am unable to walk back to the house, you will be able to levitate me to our bedroom.”

Ana’s cheeks heated at the last couple of words and all thoughts about spell practice flew out the window and were replaced by images of her and Voldemort sleeping in a bed … together.

…

Ana wasn’t sure how Voldemort would perform as a teacher-slash-tutor, but surprisingly the entire experience was extremely enjoyable. It was true that it only lasted for a day and a half, but his explanations were easy to follow and understand and when she struggled with matching the wand movement for _Mobilicorpus_ and its incantation, he guided her through it step by step.

The most weird but fascinating part about their practice was the fact that he had her practice on both live and dead farm animals of different sizes, from a chicken to a sheep, a goat, a pig, and a cow. When she asked why that was the case, he only replied with, “Would you rather practice on me and Phobos?”

She went pale at the thought of having Voldemort and Phobos injured just so she could practice her spells. She shook her head vigorously. “No,” she said firmly.

“Then we’re sticking to farm animals,” he said simply.

After having her perfect the pronunciation of the incantations and the hand and wand movements for each spell, he showed her how the incantation interacted with the movement on an actual target. For the practical part, they worked spell by spell, first the demonstration, and then she tried performing the spell herself. When it was her chance to practice, he usually let her work without interfering, unless she was struggling greatly, as with _Mobilicorpus_. _Vulnera Sanentur_ also proved to be a tricky spell to perform because of its melodious incantation, but she managed to do it on her third try. As they said … third time is the charm.

…

On Thursday morning, Ana woke up extremely early and was barely able to sleep that night, because she dreamed about something somehow going wrong and after having a bad dream sequence for three consecutive times in one night, she didn’t want to go back to sleep and just decided to stay awake until dawn.

She also ended up having stomach cramps and she must have developed some form of nerve-induced diarrhoea, because she had to use the toilet four times in the span of two hours. When it was time for breakfast, she was barely able to eat a small portion of her breakfast, because her stomach was clenching painfully through every bite, and eating made her want to vomit.

“With how terrible you’re feeling, one would think you’re getting ready for a funeral and not a wedding,” commented Marvolo as she was taking a bath.

“I can’t help it, okay,” she snapped in frustration at her future husband’s horcrux. “It’s not that I don’t look forward to marrying Voldemort, sharing the bed with him, and forming a family with him and an actual relationship, it’s quite the opposite. I’m excited about it, but also really nervous and worried.”

“About what?”

“You saw the dreams,” she said.

“Yes, I saw them.”

“Then you know why I’m so on edge.”

“Nobody is going to ruin the ceremony, because no one knows about it, not even your friends,” he reminded her. “The documents are going to be in order, because Voldemort will make sure everything is okay with both documents prior to signing them. As for your friends turning their backs on you after learning about the wedding, aren’t you always the one who is saying that you’ve been together through thick and thin, so why should you marrying Voldemort be the reason your friendship finally breaks.”

“You have a point.”

“Of course I do,” he huffed. “So, why don’t you just breathe calmly, alright? Because I don’t think this level of agitation and nerves are good for the baby.”

Nagini joined her just as she was putting on the green dress and styling her hair in a simple half updo.

“ _I sense a lot of unease from you, hatchling,_ ” she remarked. “ _Are you not looking forward to mating with my hatchling? You barely ate this morning._ ”

“ _I am, Nagini. I really am happy and excited,_ ” she assured her. “ _But I can’t help but feel nervous about it too. It’s an important event._ ”

“ _Yes,_ ” she agreed, “ _bonding with your mate and making sure they are satisfied is really important, as is taking care of a hatchling and making sure it’s healthy, well fed and warm_. _I’m sure you will do great. Both you and my hatchling. And if you struggle, I will help you._ ”

Ana smiled at the snake, feeling most of her nerves wash away at her words. “ _Thank you, Nagini._ ”

…

She joined Voldemort down in the foyer at eleven. He complimented her appearance.

“Thank you. You look very handsome as well,” she said and meant what she said. He was dressed in a formal attire and she liked how the dress robes hugged his body and created the contrast between the dark green and the paleness of his face and the intensity of his red eyes.

As they stepped outside the manor, there was a magnificent thestral-drawn carriage waiting for them. He helped her get inside. Noticing her cold and sweaty hands, he asked her with a strained voice, “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” she said, unwaveringly, looking him in the eye.

He searched her gaze for a lie, but found none. He nodded. “Then let us proceed as planned.”

He gave the coachman the signal and the carriage started moving toward London.

“Want to share what worries you?” he ventured to ask her after minutes of silence and her twiddling hands.

His sudden question startled her a bit and she tore her gaze from the carriage window and turned it to him.

“I had a rough night and morning,” she began, glancing at her lap. “I couldn’t sleep well without having a nightmare each time I went back to sleep, so I stayed awake for most of the night,” she narrated and he listened. “And in the morning, my wedding-day nerves kept me on the toilet seat for most of it and kept me from eating much of the breakfast.”

He fought off an amused smile, but wasn’t very successful about it. Luckily, she wasn’t looking.

She sighed. “I’m doing my best to be calm, but marriage is not something one does for fun, you know. It’s serious business and ours is going to last forever, because we are immortal.”

To mask his urge to chuckle, he instead cleared his throat. “Do you feel inclined to share what kept you awake at night?”

She looked his way again and back at her lap. “It’s silly and … I don’t even remember all the details anymore.”

“If it was enough to wake you up during the night, it was probably far from silly,” he insisted.

She sighed heavily again. “I had three different nightmares. The first one was about someone interrupting our wedding. The second one was about something being wrong with the documents and we were signing something completely different and unrelated. And the third one was about my friends turning their backs on me after learning I’m marrying you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her, “because I will make sure nothing goes wrong today.”

She gazed into his eyes and smiled. “I know. Marvolo also said that you would make sure everything is in order.”

“Then stop feeling so nervous.”

“How?”

“Think and talk about something that calms you.”

“I can’t think of anything right now.”

“Then tell me how you learnt about surviving in nature?”

She thought about it for a minute. “Okay,” she obliged with a sigh.

“When I was eight,” she began, looking straight ahead, getting lost in her memories, “the muggle primary school I attended was doing a project called ‘ _School in Nature_ ’. Each year, in May, they would pick a week from Monday to Friday to prepare it. Since it resembled camping and surviving in nature, we didn’t sleep in cottages or even tents, so the excursion didn’t require any money whatsoever. Of course, you still had to bring some essentials with you like warm clothes, boots, a toothbrush, potable water, a Swiss knife, matches, sturdy string, a large piece of cloth and a towel. I was intrigued and told my relatives about it and, surprisingly, they let me go. They got rid of me for five days and I was more than happy to stay away from them.”

“You lived with muggles?” he frowned.

“Yes, my aunt, her husband and my cousin. They despised me, treated me like a house elf, and kept me in a cupboard under the stairs for ten years, until they got scared about being watched when my first Hogwarts letter arrived bearing my _exact_ address, and gave me my cousin’s second bedroom, where he kept all his broken toys.”

There was a long silence, with Voldemort trying to keep a clear head, because knowing that filthy muggles treated his horcrux like a house elf and made her sleep in a broom cupboard, was enough to make his teeth clench and plan another murder, this time a multiple one.

“When you say that they treated you like a house elf; what exactly do you mean by it?” he wanted to know.

“You know, they made me do all the household chores as soon as I was old enough to do them, they starved me, gave me rags from my cousin, who was three times my size, and performed corporeal punishment whenever I would make something _freaky_ happen.”

His jaw tightened as he listened and his fingers itched to torture and kill. Filthy muggles! How dared they? This was why they shouldn’t exist, because they didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as wizards. They were annoying little insects that thought themselves entitled to mistreat the magical people for their magic.

“Voldemort,” she called, gently wrapping a hand around one of his fists, when she noticed his hateful glare. “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t.”

“They would deserve it,” he snarled ferociously. He expected her to look frightened and taken aback by his words and tone, but she remained unfazed in her endeavour to calm him down.

“Probably,” she allowed, prying his fist open to caress his palm and to intertwine their fingers, “but it’s not worth it.”

“Of course it is,” he hissed, letting her play with his hand and even squeezing back. “How can you say otherwise?”

“Because I don’t want to think about them,” she told him firmly. “Living with them was horrible and painful, yes, but it’s over now. I don’t want to let what I lived with them hinder my life.” She caressed his cheek and he caught her hand with his and kept it there. “And who says I ever have to see them again? They can live their life however they see fit and I will live mine far away from them.”

She snuggled into his side and hugged his torso. He tensed for a second, but quickly relaxed and let her hug him. He reluctantly returned the hug and rested his head on top of hers.

“Would you like to know more about my adventures in nature?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” she resumed her narration, still inside his embrace, “once we arrived to our location, the first thing we learnt was how to build a survival shelter with a raised bed, using sturdy logs and branches, moss and spruce needles. When each of us had their own little shelter, we learned how to build a fireplace to keep warm, but also to cook. We collected tree bark, dry grass and small branches to set them on fire. For our first time, we used matches to start the fire, but then they showed us several fire starting techniques that didn’t involve matches or a lighter and it was really amazing,” she said excitedly.

“Then, we learnt how to make primitive hunting tools like snares, bows and arrows, but also fishing rods. While we tried target shooting with the bow, the instructors didn’t let us hunt actual food with them, but we were allowed to fish and use snares, so, we mostly ate rabbit and fish, but the instructors killed and prepared them for us. On the last day of the excursion, to make it more festive, they also killed a deer. Another thing they showed us was how to skin a rabbit and deer and different things you can do with its hide, a quiver being one of those things, but again, they didn't let us do much.”

“You learnt all that in five days?”

“Pretty much, there are a lot of hours in one day, but I also repeated that excursion twice more, so fifteen days of surviving in nature over the course of three years. Then, I started Hogwarts and I didn’t use those survival skills until I had to hide from you.”

She looked up at him. “It’s amazing how much I remembered about surviving in nature from those excursions, it’s like I was preparing myself for that ordeal without knowing it.”

Ana remained in his arms through the remainder of their journey and by the time they arrived in London, her nerves had calmed down.

…

They made their way to Gringotts, where a goblin escorted them into the ritual chamber where they would perform the bonding ceremony. With a little over an hour to spare, Voldemort and Ana went through the documents to make sure everything was worded correctly, and that all points were taken into account. Once they made certain nothing was out of place, they signed the treaty and the marriage contract and waited for the witnesses to arrive.

A few minutes before three o’clock, the door to the chamber opened and in came Ron and Hermione.

“Ana!” they exclaimed in unison, as soon as they saw and recognised her. They ran to her and engulfed her in a strong group hug.

She giggled nervously, hugging back. “Hey guys,” she greeted shyly.

“You had us worried sick for days and all you can say is ‘hey guys’?” Hermione admonished her sternly.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” she felt bad for causing them needless worry. “Didn’t you see the letter I left you?”

“Yeah, we saw it,” said Ron, “but if you think that sort of vague wording would be enough to make us go, ‘Oh, okay, I guess everything is fine and dandy, let’s go home’, you’re very mistaken.”

She winced at the sarcasm in Ron’s words.

“Where were you these past few days and what are you doing here?” Hermione interrogated her.

“Don’t tell us you also received a letter from Gringotts to sign some papers?” said Ron.

Ana didn’t know how to tell them the news. “Well …” she began tentatively, looking at her friends. “I’m here to get married.”

Silence followed. Ron and Hermione gaped at her.

“M-Married?!” they exclaimed in shock. “To whom exactly?”

Before she could answer the question, she felt hands on her shoulders and a tall figure looming over her from behind her back. “Me,” announced Voldemort.

Hermione and Ron looked up and blanched at the sight of him. They let out a yelp and stumbled backwards.

“Bloody hell, Ana,” breathed Ron. “You’re marrying Voldemort?”

“Why would you marry him, when all he’s ever done is try to kill you?” said Hermione.

“Well, he hasn’t tried to kill me for the past four days,” she pointed out awkwardly, with Voldemort still standing behind her, possessively holding her close by the shoulders, “and since we just signed no-violence and no-aggression documents I can safely say that he will not attempt to kill me ever again,” she concluded with a bright smile.

Ron and Hermione were speechless again.

“So … when you said you would take care of everything you meant you were going to marry Voldemort?” asked Ron.

“Uh … not exactly. I didn’t expect the marriage part either, I was hoping for a truce at the very least.”

“If you were planning a truce … how in the world did you end up accepting marriage with Voldemort? It just doesn’t make sense.” Hermione tried to wrap her mind around this two disconnected concepts, because in her mind she couldn’t come up with a satisfying explanation.

Ana wasn’t sure she wanted to share the real reason behind everything, so she simply shrugged and said, “Why not? For all I know Voldemort can turn out to be a wonderful husband and I wish to have a family, so … why not with him.” She placed her hands over his and rubbed them reassuringly. In turn, she could feel his magic reaching out to envelop her and the warmth that seeped through their clothes sent pleasant shivers down her spine.

“Who was the one who proposed to who?” wanted to know Ron, pointing from Ana to Voldemort.

She pointed at Voldemort. “He did.”

They stared, blinking owlishly at him.

“I still don’t understand how this drastic leap from truce to marriage could have happen.” Hermione closed her eyes and massaged her temples.

“And I say we better start with the bonding ceremony, because we haven’t all day and people might get suspicious if you’re absent for too long,” Voldemort deadpanned.

“Well, we’re going to leave you to your ceremony then, we just came here to sign some papers,” said Ron, trying to leave the room with Hermione, when Voldemort stopped them.

“You big dunderhead,” he gritted through his teeth impatiently. “The papers you have to sign are the secrecy agreement about our wedding, until publicly announced, and our wedding certificate. You will act as our wedding witnesses.”

They gaped in shock again.

“Oh,” said Ron, once the meaning of the words and the situation registered in his brain, “right. My bad.

“Is everyone ready for the ceremony?” asked the goblin.

“Yes,” answered Voldemort.

“Then let us proceed. If the bride and groom would step into the middle of the ritual circle,” he instructed and Voldemort guided Ana to their assigned place. “And one witness on each side.”

Both Ron and Hermione went towards Ana’s side.

“I’ll be Ana’s witness,” hissed Hermione under her breath.

“Why does it have to be you?” argued Ron in a whisper.

“Because I’m her friend.”

“Well, I’m her friend too.”

“Weasley,” Voldemort’s voice sent unpleasant shivers down Ron and Hermione’s spines. Ron swallowed hard, white as a sheet. “I will count to three. If you don’t get here by the time I get to three, I will hex you.”

He let out a whimper, but obliged as soon as Voldemort started counting.

When everyone was in their positions, the goblin approached Voldemort and Ana and handed them a strand of red string. “This is for when you start exchanging wedding vows,” he said. “The bride will tie her end around the groom’s left little finger and the groom will tie his end around the bride’s left little finger.”

He turned to the witnesses and handed them two long red ribbon strands. “After both the bride and groom have said their vows, they will join their hands. You,” he turned to Hermione, “will tie the bride’s left hand with the groom’s right, and you,” he turned to Ron, “will tie the bride’s right hand with the groom’s left.”

They nodded.

The goblin began to chant. “Mother Magic, your children Tom Marvolo Riddle and Ana Potter invoke your presence. They wish for you to come forth into the mortal coil to bear witness to their wedding and to provide your blessing to their union. They humbly implore you to grace them with your presence.”

The runes in the circle began to glow, as a golden, holographic mist descended upon Voldemort and Ana, and danced around them, enveloping them in warmth.

“With Magic’s presence and blessing, please, exchange your marriage vows and seal your union by tying the red string of fate around your chosen one’s left little finger.”

“I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, take thee, Ana Potter,” he began wrapping the string around her finger, but he kept his eyes locked with hers, “to be my wife and I promise I will be faithful to you and honest with you. I will respect, trust, help, and care for you. I will share my life with you through the best and worst of what is to come for as long as we live.”

He tied the string in a knot.

“I, Ana Potter, take thee, Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort,” she started wrapping her end around his pinkie, while gazing straight into his eyes, “to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you and honest with you. I will respect, love and cherish you. I will be by your side for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health for as long as we live.”

As she tied the string into a knot, the string began to glow in a golden hue.

“Please, hold your hands,” instructed the goblin and they grabbed each other’s wrists.

Hermione and Ron stepped closer and started wrapping the ribbons around their joint hands.

With Magic’s presence and blessing, I officially declare you husband and bride. You may kiss to seal the ritual.”

Swallowing nervously, she let him pull her towards him, met his lips halfway, and pressed them together. The kiss lasted for a few seconds and while neither of them moved their lips in anyway, Ana’s first kiss sent pleasant tingles all over her body, warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach, and she could have sworn she was hearing the chirping of birds, the gentle chiming of bells and the muffled sound of fireworks.

When they separated, she let out a shaky breath and felt dazed and light-headed. The string and ribbons had melted into their skins and the golden holographic mist had dispersed.

“Now that the ritual is over,” she heard the distant voice of the goblin, “if you would please step into the office to sign the documents as well.”

Ana tried her best to hide the effects that one simple press of lips had on her mind and body, but she proved unsuccessful, when she stumbled on her first step and her husband had to steady her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a whisper.

“Nothing,” she assured him, breathlessly, facing him with dazed eyes. “I feel fine. More than fine actually. I feel great. Maybe even a little too great. Is that possible? For one to feel faint because they feel too good? Because I feel like I’m floating,” she rambled.

He looked a little worried and held her tighter in case she suddenly ended up fainting … from a kiss.

…

After signing the papers and saying goodbye to her friends with a promise to see them at Hogwarts for their final school year, Voldemort and Ana returned to the manor with the thestral carriage, where they had a peaceful dinner before retiring to bed.

Ana went to the bathroom first, then slipped under the bed covers and waited for Voldemort to join her. When the bathroom door opened and revealed a naked Voldemort, Ana’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of Voldemort’s manhood and she let out a squeal and hid her face with the cover.

“Why are you naked?” she said in a small voice, from under the cover. Her face felt on fire. “I thought we agreed on no sex for now.”

“I’m naked, because that’s how I sleep,” he deadpanned. “I suggest you get used to it.” She heard him approach the bed, the rustling of sheets and felt the mattress dip next to her.

She slowly lowered the cover to expose her eyes and looked at him. “Sorry,” she murmured, still blushing furiously. “It’s my first time seeing a naked man.”

“And, as of today, I will also be the only man you will see naked.”

“Uh, what about our son?” she wondered. “I will have to see him naked whenever he will need a diaper change,” she pointed out.

Voldemort sent a blank stare her way. “You know what I meant,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed in defeat. “I’m just trying to distract myself here.”

“From what?”

“From your nakedness.”

He let out an amused chuckle, but didn’t comment on her statement. “Good night, wife,” he said instead, putting out the gas lamps, and settled on his side, with his back turned to her.

She glanced at him in the dark, still lying on her back. “Good night, husband.”

…

Twenty minutes later, Voldemort couldn’t sleep and he didn’t know why. He didn’t feel hot, his pillow was in the usual position and height, yet he felt tense and uncomfortable for some reason.

He looked over his shoulder. The faint moonlight coming in through the windows provided enough light for him to see that Ana was facing away and judging from her deep and calm breathing, she was already sleeping. After a restless night, he wasn’t even surprised she fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling. After a while, he gently moved to the centre of the bed, closer to Ana. That felt slightly better. He moved closer still, until he was touching her back. Yes, that felt much better.

Suddenly, she started to shift as well. He held his breath and remained completely still, until she settled into his side, facing and hugging him. With her head on his chest and her legs tangled with his, he looked down at her and smirked. His arm wrapped around her and pressed her even closer to his body.

‘ _Ah, yes_ ,’ he thought in satisfaction, ‘ _this is perfect_.’ And he fell soundly asleep … with Ana’s body and scent surrounding him.


	9. Honeymoon in Little Hangleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort reabsorbs the ring fragment and Ana takes care of him.

_She was sitting on the sofa in the living room of the mansion, cradling and breastfeeding a baby girl, while sporting a baby bump, when a boy with messy black hair, green eyes and Tom Riddle’s facial features entered._

_“Mama,” he called excitedly, with a ball tucked under his arm and Nagini wrapped around his torso and shoulders, “I’m going outside to play ball with Nagini.”_

_“Okay, sweetie,” she smiled. “Just be careful, alright?”_

_He pecked her on the cheek. “I’m always careful,” he said innocently._

_She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Aha … like when you broke a bookshelf in your father’s library and almost injured yourself, because you wanted an out of reach book and decided that climbing the bookcase was easier than calling Phobos, your father or me,” she teased._

_Her son’s cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink. “That was an accident.”_

_“Or the time you thought you were an adventurer and you pretended our house was Kilimanjaro and you climbed the roof, then slipped and slid off the roof?”_

_“I said I was sorry,” he said, flushing stronger now._

_“Or when you decided to enter your room through the balcony, by climbing the tree that grows right next to it, rather than use the door like normal people and a branch broke and you were dangling over the fence?”_

_“Mama,” he whined, bright red now._

_“You haven’t even started Hogwarts and you’ve given your father and me at least a dozen heart attacks. You’re lucky your accidental magic saved you from the worst possible scenario. What if you had broken your neck? Or cracked open your skull or broken your spine?”_

_“Mama, I said I was just going to play ball with Nagini, I’m not going to climb anything.”_

_She looked at him with scepticism._

_“The last time you played ball with Nagini you broke an entire collection of dark arts antiques your father spent years collecting.”_

_“I didn’t mean to and it’s not my fault they fell like dominoes,” he huffed, pouting adorably. “This time, nothing will go wrong, because I’ll be playing outside.”_

_She sighed. “Still … be careful, sweetie. I don’t want you to get hurt. And don’t push Nagini too much, she’s old.”_

_He let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother.” He left the room._

_She returned to the baby girl, enjoying the peace, until she felt a hot puff of air collide with the back of her neck, and she started and gasped. When she turned her head to the side, she saw her husband Voldemort sporting a seductive smirk._

_“You scared me.”_

_“Not my problem if you’re so immersed in breastfeeding.”_

_He left a wet trail of kisses along her neck and jaw, eliciting soft mewls of pleasure from her lips. “V-Voldemort,” she moaned softly, “our daughter is still eating.”_

_“I’m hungry too, you know,” he said huskily. “For sex with you. Especially after going through all that paperwork.”_

_She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Well …” she breathed. “You wanted to be the leader of the wizarding world, now you’re saddled with paperwork for eternity … like me.”_

_The sound of glass breaking interrupted them._

_She gasped and Voldemort froze._

_“Voldemort,” she said, her voice filled with worry, “go check on our son to see if he’s okay.”_

_“I wonder what he broke now,” he grumbled under his breath, but straightened anyway and went to see what had happened. A couple of minutes later, they were back, with their son looking mortified beside his father._

_“What happened?” she inquired._

_“He broke the kitchen window,” deadpanned Voldemort with arms crossed. “But luckily Phobos already fixed it.”_

_“Are you hurt?”_

_He shook his head and she felt relieved to hear that. With her son’s safety confirmed, she couldn’t help but ask, “How did you even manage to break the window by accident?”_

_“I threw the ball a bit too hard for Nagini to catch it in mid-air and it flew directly into the window.”_

_“Sweetie, you said you would be careful.”_

_He looked at his feet. “I know.”_

_He looked so miserable it tugged at her heartstrings. She exchanged a gentle look with Voldemort, and then addressed her son. “I’m just glad you didn’t hurt yourself, sweetie.”_

_He nodded and Voldemort ruffled his hair._

…

Ana woke up from another of her domestic dreams with Voldemort and the children. Slowly, she rubbed her eyes and stretched her limbs, when her brain caught up to the fact she was touching something warm and alive.

Her eyes fluttered open and as she looked up, she came face to face with Voldemort’s face. She froze, not knowing what to do. She wondered how they ended up in such a position and whether she should disentangle herself and slip into the bathroom while he was still asleep to avoid any embarrassing moments, when he reaffirmed his hold on her and opened his eyes.

She swallowed hard and an awkward silence stretched between them as they gazed at each other.

“G-Good morning,” was the first thing that came to her mind. In reply, Voldemort captured her lips in a kiss and while she wasn’t expecting it, she returned it, letting him explore them, letting him pry them open with his tongue and map the interior. She felt light-headed and content … until she remembered something.

She let out a squeal and broke the kiss, covering her lips.

“What?” He looked confused.

“I have morning breath.” Her voice sounded a bit muffled.

“So do I,” he pointed out, “yet you don’t hear me complaining.”

Heat creeped to her face. She cleared her throat.

“W-We should probably get up and get ready for breakfast and the ritual,” she said, trying to get out of bed, but just as she sat up to do it, Voldemort caught her arm and yanked her back on the bed.

She let out a squeal and Voldemort rolled on top of her, caging her with his limbs, and she could feel his member against her pelvis. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her with a penetrating gaze. She looked questioningly at him.

“W-What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked in turn.

She was blinking and flushing wildly, looking to the sides, all too aware of his nakedness. “Uh … l-like you’re trying to s-seduce me.”

He smirked. “I thought we agreed to wait,” he remarked.

Was he teasing her? She fixed her gaze on his. “Then why are you on top of me?”

“To prevent you from leaving the bed?” he provided questioningly. “I thought it was obvious. Although if you’d prefer I could do the other thing too,” he added huskily.

“M-Maybe some other time,” she breathed, trying to reign in her heart, which was thundering in her ribcage. “Anyway … why are you trying to keep me in bed?”

“Do I need a reason?” His brow furrowed.

“Well … I would certainly like to know the reason for it.”

He stared at her. “I don’t feel inclined letting you out of bed just yet?”

“Why?”

Instead of providing a verbal response, he decided to kiss her passionately, burying his hands in her hair and holding her head in place. Ana squealed, but kissed back and hugged him tight around the shoulders, moaning into the kiss. She was getting dizzy from pleasure again. Before it got too much for her, they stopped and Voldemort rolled them on their side, keeping her lower body caged with his legs and her upper body pressed to his chest.

Dazed from the kiss, she let him keep her close and fill her nostrils and lungs with his scent. She nuzzled his chest and hugged back. ‘ _So … this is what he wanted_ ,’ she thought. He wanted to cuddle.

They lay comfortably in each other’s arms for a handful of minutes, when the pressure in Ana’s bladder became too much to ignore.

“Voldemort?” she called carefully. He murmured. “I need to pee.”

He let out a frustrated groan, but released his hold on her.

…

An hour before noon, it was time for the ritual.

Armed with phoenix tears, dittany, her wand and survival knife, Ana walked beside Voldemort down the hill towards the graveyard. They planned to go further, but the soul fragment they were looking for was walking in between the tombstones. They stopped and observed it.

“Damned Dumbledore,” he was muttering hatefully under his breath. There was a deep cut on his right shoulder, black matter soaking the fabric and dripping down his hand onto the floor. “How did he find out about the horcrux? How was he able to destroy it? With Godric’s sword no less. I hope he’s dead. I hope the curse killed that bastard.”

Ana felt her heart clench at the pitiful state of her husband’s soul fragment, especially his wound, because once Voldemort reabsorbed it, he would bear the same wound as the injured horcrux.

“I thought the decaying curse I put on you and the protective enchantments on the shack would be enough to protect you,” said Voldemort.

The fragment stopped, turning to them. His gaze studied them for a while, until his black gaze settled on Voldemort.

“And it worked for a good number of decades,” he replied, floating closer. “Until Dumbledore appeared with the sword of Gryffindor and cut through the stone in the ring like butter and left me with this wound,” he spat hatefully. “I don’t know how he was able to do it, but at least I have the satisfaction to know the idiot put on the ring and got cursed.”

He was face to face with his corporeal self, looking him up and down. “What happened to you?” He grimaced. “Why do you look like this? Don’t tell me this is the by-product of horcruxes.”

“The horcruxes definitely contributed to my distorted facial features,” replied Voldemort curtly, not appreciating his own horcrux judging his appearance.

“And who is she?” he turned to her, nodding in her direction.

“She’s my wife. Ana Potter.”

The fragment’s black eyes widened in surprise and shock. “What?” he breathed incredulously. “Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like the reasons for it matter now, do they? The only thing you need to know right now is that she’s my wife.”

The fragment from the ring was now scrutinising her and he noticed the locket around her neck. “Was this the proposal gift?”

Marvolo materialised beside Ana and answered for her and Voldemort. “Not necessarily,” he said light-heartedly. “It was a bit messier than that, but the locket does look good on her, wouldn’t you agree?”

The ring didn’t comment on it. “Why are you even here?”

“I came to absorb you,” informed him Voldemort.

“And why would you want to do that?” huffed the ring. “I may not be anchored to a container, but I’m still keeping you tied to this plane.”

“True,” he agreed, “but having you wandering around makes you open and vulnerable for exorcism and I don’t intend to allow it.”

A chilling laughter echoed through the graveyard. Ana instinctively reached for Voldemort’s arm and pressed herself against him.

“Oh, please,” he mocked, “you act as if that little detail is common knowledge, when it’s not. And what if I don’t want you to reabsorb me?”

“I don’t particularly care what you want, because separate or not, we’re parts of the same person,” said Voldemort calmly.

“Well, when we separated you were more than eager to keep it that way, so what happened that you changed your mind?” he said shrewdly. “Don’t tell me you regret killing father and the grandparents, because I have a hard time believing that you grew enough conscience and concern for others to feel empathy much less remorse,” he taunted.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the ring. “None of the sort,” he assured him. “I didn’t come here to lament anything. As it turns out, there is another way to reabsorb a soul piece.”

That piqued the fragment’s interest. “Oh, pray tell then.”

He told him about the ritual, but left out where and how he learnt about it. Something both the locket and the ring noticed, but when asked about it, he only said, “Does it matter?”

The ring frowned and crossed his arms in a clear display of discontent.

Ana sighed and thought to herself, ‘ _Voldemort, you really need to work on your communication skills_.’ Although, if she thought about it, Voldemort always talked a lot, liked to have monologues and speeches, about his plans, his displeasure with his subordinates, how he was going to kill her back in the day, tried to talk her over to his side. He talked so much even Shakespeare would be impressed, so … why was he being so scarce with information all of a sudden.

“If it helps, the ritual will hurt me more than you,” added Voldemort.

“Wow,” he returned sarcastically, “what good news. Although, in all seriousness, I’m glad to know it will hurt you.”

Ana looked shocked at the statement and Voldemort thought he misheard his own soul fragment.

“Don’t look so scandalised. How did you think I would feel spending over five decades in that dingy shack, not being able to leave that awful place?” he spat derisively. “I know it was a hazard to have us on your person at all times, that you needed to disperse and hide us, but I think the loneliness and the atmosphere of that place finally got to me and it made me even more bitter than I already was,” he snarled viciously. “And since that muggle father of ours is already dead together with his parents, I couldn’t turn my anger and bitterness on him … or anyone else for that matter, because, guess what, I am a spectre that no one sees, and I can’t even physically torture anyone to relieve my stress! Not to mention this giant cut on my shoulder, so forgive me if I have a lot of pent-up stress and frustration and I want you to suffer at least a fraction of what _I_ had to suffer.”

Ana and Voldemort stared at the ring, lost for words. If the ring was angry, she didn’t even want to imagine how bitter the fragment from the diary felt, especially towards her.

Even Marvolo was speechless, but as a fellow horcrux, he understood what the ring was going through, because he went through the same thing, first spending decades inside that cave, then being stored away in a house for years, having to suffer constant destruction attempts of the container by that blasted house elf. Therefore, once Ana started wearing him he became attached … in a way and determined to enjoy looking through her mind, her thoughts, conscious and subconscious, shaping her thoughts and aspects of her personality, curious to see what would happen … and he was extremely satisfied with the result. Now … he took great pleasure in teasing her.

“You know,” he continued, but since he got most of the venom out of his system, his voice sounded light-hearted. “It’s all rainbows and unicorns when you plan the creation of a horcrux. Until you end up in an inanimate container for eternity with nothing but yourself for company and suddenly immortality through horcruxes sounds like a curse or a punishment rather than a blessing or a reward.”

“That can easily be amended with me reabsorbing you,” pointed out Voldemort.

The ring looked sceptical, but agreed to the ritual. Voldemort proceeded to make the preparation, while Ana stood nearby at the ready to patch him up.

Being a spectator proved to be a lot harder than she anticipated, because as the ritual progressed and the process of reabsorption was in full swing, she could see Voldemort in pain, yet couldn’t do anything to alleviate his suffering until the ritual was complete.

However, as soon as everything was over, Ana was kneeling by his side with tears in her eyes and trembling hands, fumbling with the bottle of phoenix tears. He was covered in sweat, breathing with difficulty, groaning in pain and there was a deep slash on his right shoulder, drenching his robes in blood.

She sliced open his robe around the shoulder with her knife, uncorked the bottle and placed the tears directly onto the wound. When the first drop hit the cut, Voldemort let out a pained hiss as every nerve in his system felt on fire. When the tears started to close up the slash, she hurried to add some essence of dittany to prevent scarring, and before dressing his wound, she performed Vulnera Sanentur.

By the time she took care of his injury, Voldemort had passed out from the pain, but kept sweating and shivering. She caressed his cheeks, whispering calming and reassuring things, then, transferred him to the bedroom with Mobilicorpus and placed him on the bed, removed his torn and bloody robe and tucked him under the covers.

His shivering became more violent and as she pressed her hand to his forehead, his skin felt hot. Immediately, she instructed Phobos to bring her a bucket of cold water and a couple of pieces of cloth for a cold compress, which provided some relief, but it wasn’t long before he was groaning again and thrashing, weakly complaining about his head.

“Do you want me to tell Phobos to get you some pain relief potion?” she asked, concerned. He shook his head and murmured a negative response. “Then tell me what I can do to help you with the pain.”

“S-Stay.” His teeth were chattering. “D-Don’t go.”

She smiled gently at him, joined him in bed and embraced him over the bedsheets, providing him comfort and additional warmth. “I’m not going anywhere, Voldemort.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m here.”

An hour later, his headache and shivers subsided, but he was still cold and feverish, and his body began to cramp up and he started to make gagging sounds. Ana immediately stirred him towards the bucket and let him vomit inside it, while keeping one cold compress on his nape and the other on his forehead, which acted as support as well, because every time he needed to expel another round of vomit, his upper body would tense up and lurch forward.

Five rounds of spew later, it stopped and he collapsed back onto the bed, and she instructed Phobos to take the bucket away and bring a fresh one with more water as well as some rosehip tea to soothe Voldemort’s stomach.

…

He was out cold for most of the day.

He missed lunch, though she managed to give him a few sips of rosehip tea and she changed the bandages on his shoulder. By dinner, his body stopped shivering, but now he felt so hot all over, he felt like he was in a cooking pot full of boiling water.

She uncovered him and let the air hit his skin, but still spent most of the evening and night trying to lower his body temperature with cold compresses, because he was too stubborn to let her tell Phobos to give him some fever diminishing and pain reducing potions, and even when she managed to lower it, it rose again.

She finally succumbed to sleep towards dawn, holding his hand and intertwining their fingers. That is how Voldemort found her when he woke up in the morning all groggy from pain of the previous day.

He smirked at the sight of her next to him after an entire day of nursing him and worrying over him.

It’s not that he enjoyed the pain, but he enjoyed her touches and concern over his well-being too much to speed up his recovery. It felt … nice to have someone worry over him like that. He reached out and lightly caressed her cheek and hair, with a soft expression on his face, until he halted and his smile dissolved into a frown.

It’s not as if she nursed him because she cared, he had to remind himself that she was only keeping her wedding vow to him. As his wife, she had the duty and the responsibility to be there for him no matter the circumstance and regardless of her personal feelings.

Ana started waking up. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and noticed that he was awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone dropped a boulder on me and smashed my head with a metal pipe,” he said hoarsely.

She checked his forehead for body temperature. “At least you don’t have fever anymore. I suppose you might feel groggy and weak for a couple of days more, but with some spinach and chicken or beef soup you should recover your strength.”

He chuckled. “Is that what muggles eat when they are sick?”

“Well, they taste good and they are easy on the stomach, so … I suppose,” she shrugged.

He stretched a hand to her. “Help me get up,” he said.

“Do you need to go to the toilet?”

“Affirmative.”

As he sat up, he had to pause for a bit, because being upright was making him dizzy. Then, hooking an arm around her shoulder as she wound her opposite arm around his waist, she provided support and escorted him to the bathroom. He took advantage of the proximity to lean on her and bask discretely in her scent.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” she asked after tucking him in bed again.

“Not really hungry, but I wouldn’t mind a sip of water or tea.”

“Will rosehip tea be okay?” He nodded.

Ana called for Phobos and asked him to prepare more rosehip tea and some oat porridge for breakfast for her. She was about to ask for something else as well, but she quickly stopped and corrected herself. “Never mind. I’m going to take care of it personally.”

“What are you going to do?” Voldemort prompted.

“I’m going to cook you some chicken soup and some mashed potatoes with creamy spinach for lunch,” she said importantly.

He smirked, amused. “You’ll cook for me?”

“Of course.” She frowned. “What? You thought I wouldn’t?”

He shrugged. “I certainly wouldn’t anticipate it since you don’t need to.”

“Well, I am. I hope you don’t have any objections.”

“No objections,” he said with a smirk.

“Good.” She nodded haughtily.

“I’m surprised you spent the entire day nursing me,” he remarked casually, while they waited for Phobos to deliver the tea and porridge.

“Voldemort, we got married just two days ago; I still remember quite vividly that I promised you to be by your side in health and in sickness, so that’s what I did.”

“Of course,” he said bitterly.

“I also did it because, contrary to what you might believe, I don’t find joy in your pain and suffering.” Her voice cracked a bit and her eyes prickled with tears. “I may not be ready to profess my undying love for you, but it still hurts seeing you go through what you went through yesterday.” She dabbed her eyes with her fingers.

Voldemort didn’t know what to say to that, so when Phobos interrupted the moment with tea and porridge, he felt relieved.

She got up. “Here,” she said, urging him to sit up. “Let me raise the pillows so you can eat and drink with more ease.”

“Is it safe for me to assume you are not indifferent or adverse to me?” he asked.

She directed an incredulous look at him. “Of course I’m not indifferent or adverse to you.” She sounded indignant. “Far from it actually.”

He felt smug and warmth pooled in his stomach and spread through the rest of his body. After helping him take a sip of his tea, she picked up her bowl of porridge. “Would you like some?” she offered. “Even if only a few bites.”

He nodded and let her spoon feed him a handful of spoons of porridge, before he had enough until lunch.

“Is the diary fragment the only other soul fragment you will absorb?” she asked tentatively.

There was a beat of silence, before he answered. “No.”

“No?” she repeated in wonder.

Marvolo manifested next to her. “What do you mean no?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “The first night you got here,” he began, “I called on Death and asked him about becoming his assistant. He said I could become one if I married you, Ana, and if I became whole again, meaning I have to reabsorb all of my horcruxes except the one you’re carrying, because it’s not a piece anymore but its own entity.”

Ana and Marvolo gaped at him.

“Is that why you decided to marry me?” she asked in a small voice. “To become Death’s assistant?”

He stared directly into her eyes. “Partially. I did get a shovel talk from Death if I married you without trying to have a genuine marriage with you. I also don’t want my child to be a bastard …” he swallowed hard, “I don’t want to be like my parents and … I want you to love me.”

Ana’s breath hitched in her chest as his intense red gaze bore into hers. Completely speechless.

He cleared his throat. “I know my past actions and my personality make it difficult, but it’s who I am. I’m cruel, sadistic, unsympathetic, selfish and because of that selfishness I want you to myself. I want your love. I want you to want me.”

Blush blossomed on her cheeks as she lowered her gaze and set the porridge down. “I might need a bit of time,” she said, looking back at him, “but I want a real and loving marriage and family with you too.”

She engulfed him in an embrace and planted a kiss on his lips, catching him unprepared. He froze for a moment, only to respond with fervour the following second.

“While it’s truly moving to see you all lovey dovey,” commented Marvolo sarcastically, “I have a question for you, Voldemort.”

They looked at him, still in each other’s arms. “What would you like to know?”

“Why do you want to undo all the work you did with the horcruxes? Why do you want to make yourself mortal?”

“I never said I wanted to become mortal.”

Marvolo was confused.

“I said whole, not mortal, and I need to be whole so either Death or his wife, Life, can give me the same kind of immortality that Ana has.”

“And once you reabsorb the diary, when are you going to destroy the remaining containers?”

“Not as soon as you might think.”

Some of the tension in Marvolo’s voice and frame dissolved, but knowing he would have to get hurt in the process didn’t sit well with him.

“Voldemort,” called Ana softly, sitting beside him, with her head resting on his healthy shoulder and their hands intertwined.

He rested his head on hers and prompted her to continue.

“If the containers have to be destroyed to get to the soul … does that mean you plan to kill Nagini eventually?” she asked miserably.

He pressed a kiss to her hair and squeezed her fingers gently. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to kill Nagini. I’ll reabsorb that piece once she passes away.”

…

After finishing her porridge and lounging with him for a bit, Ana headed to the kitchen to prepare lunch, yet even though it only took about an hour for her to cook everything, to Voldemort it felt like an eternity and he was getting bored and irritated.

Luckily Ana’s cooking was delicious and worth the wait.

Following lunch, Voldemort complained about feeling gross due to all the dried up sweat from the day before, but since he still struggled walking on his own due to dizziness, she helped him get in the tub and washed his back.

“Do you want to know why I absorbed the ring so soon after our wedding?” he asked her shrewdly.

“Do tell.”

“Because I wanted to test you,” he said importantly.

“Test me?”

“Yes. I wanted to see how well you would adhere to your wedding vows.”

She giggled. “And?” she prompted, grinning in amusement. “How did I do? Did I pass the test?”

He shrugged with a subdued smile resting on his lips. “I don’t know. How well do you think you did?”

“Oh, Outstanding, of course,” she announced with all the confidence in the world.

“I don’t know. I would give you an Acceptable,” he teased, pretending to frown in thought.

She gasped, scandalised. “Acceptable?” she repeated incredulously. “I think I deserve at least an Exceeds Expectations. What would I need to have done anyway to meet your high standards?”

“For one: you didn’t wake me up with a kiss,” he enumerated on his finger and Ana gaped in disbelief.

“How was I supposed to do that when you woke up before me?”

“Two: you didn’t massage my aching limbs to ease the pain.”

She put her hands on the hips. “Well sorry, if that didn’t cross my mind at all. You see, I was busy making sure your body temperature was low enough so it didn’t fry your brain,” she pointed out. “Anything else I should have done to earn a higher grade, your Highness?” she teased back.

He thought for a bit, stroking his chin. “Nothing additional comes to mind at the moment.” He smirked.

She shook her head, smiling at his antics. ‘ _He says candles and stars and flowers are impractical and overrated, yet here he is wishing for Sleeping Beauty kisses and spa treatments during fever_.’

“Anyway, when do you plan to reabsorb the diary?”

“When we get to Hogwarts.”

“And when is that?”

“Next week. On Monday, I’ll send a radio notice to everyone about the truce, then meet up with my followers and you’re going to be there with me to inform them of our wedding and the truce, but we’ll keep quiet about the baby, because they don’t need to know the truth. Once it starts to show or you start experiencing pregnancy symptoms, they’ll just assume it happened after the truce and the wedding.”

She nodded.

“Then, we’ll wait for the Order to respond. Hopefully it won’t take them long to make a sensible decision, and sometime during the week, we’ll move to Hogwarts and inform the staff of some curriculum and staff changes with me as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts and Defence Professor. After that, you’ll accompany me to the Chamber and help me with the injury again.”

“Of course,” she nodded, not looking forward to seeing him suffer anew.

…

They were preparing for bed when Ana changed his bandages and saw that his wound had almost healed completely. He still felt sore all over, so she massaged his limbs for a while.

“Ana,” he called tentatively.

“What is it?”

“Are you satisfied with lessons at Hogwarts?”

She blinked in confusion, not expecting such a question. “Well … I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose I am, although there were moments where I wished the instruction was less serious and more game-like, especially in first year.”

“Game-like?”

“You know … revising or learning through games like memory, dominoes, hangman, bingo, pantomime, fun individual or team quizzes with candy or stickers as a reward.” She stopped herself, before she went on about the games. “At least that’s how I used to learn best in primary muggle school. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing. Just curious.”

She finished her massage and lay next to him and he immediately brought her close to his body. She smiled and nuzzled his chest, before letting out a content sigh and yawn. She was about to fall asleep, when he asked her, “How good are your drawing skills?”

Again, the nature of the question, but above all its purpose, confused her. “I can draw simple shapes.”

“Would you be able to draw wand movements for spells?”

“I suppose I would.” She looked up at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I want you to help me make memory and domino cards for Defence,” he said, taking her completely by surprise. “And since you’re more familiar with candy and stickers than I am, I will also need you to get me a stock of each.”

“Voldemort, are you trying to tell me you intend to gamify the class for Defence?”

“Given that children are often motivated by candy and games, to ensure the maximum participation and intellectual involvement of the lower years in my class, I believe it is necessary to implement educational games, candy and stickers into the class.”

For a minute, she didn’t know what to say. Then, once her shock dissolved, a bubble of joy formed in her chest and she couldn’t stop grinning lovingly at her husband.

“However, just like achievements are rewarded,” he continued, “transgressions must be punished, and since I can’t cause children any physical harm no matter how much I might want to, I will also require your assistance in coming up with creative punishments for children who forget their homework or reading assignments or come unprepared to class.”

“You can count on me, husband,” she smiled and planted a kiss on his lips.


	10. Lord Voldemort’s Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort accepts Death's offer to work as Life's assistant, he records and broadcasts his message, and reveals his marriage to Ana Potter to his followers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: Due to increased workload, I will take a month-long break from all of my stories. Chapter 11 of Game Over, Try Again will be posted on Monday, 30 September 2019 and from there, the regular biweekly (every two weeks) updating schedule should continue uninterruptedly until the end. Should my workload increase again, I will let you know, but let's hope it won't happen any time soon.
> 
> I apologise for the inconvenience and I hope you understand. 
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy the chapter! 🤗

When Voldemort woke up the next morning, he came face to face with Death’s skull visage.

“Good morning,” Death greeted and Voldemort started with a curse, which in turn woke up Ana.

“Was this really necessary?” he scowled at the entity.

Ana rubbed her eyes and squinted, her vision slightly blurry. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was hoarse and groggy.

“Nothing, just Death looming over us,” he said, looking at him. “What is it?”

“I came to get your answer in regards to what we were discussing a week ago.” Death’s hollow voice echoed.

“And you couldn’t have come at a different time and to a different place?”

“I probably could, but I really wanted to see you two together like this. It’s a wonderful sight,” he said, “seeing you two in bed together, embracing each other as you sleep.”

Ana blushed and buried her face in Voldemort’s healthy shoulder. Voldemort’s grip around her torso tightened ever so slightly. The entity chuckled.

“And?” Death prompted. “What have you decided? You had an entire week to think about my proposition, so … what is your final answer?” Will you be my wife’s assistant or do you still wish to be my assistant?”

“I will become your wife’s assistant, however, I still want to reap souls,” he said.

“Wonderful. I will let you reap souls, but, please, try not to go outside of the list I will give you.”

“Understood.”

“You will officially work for my wife,” continued Death. “I will let her know that you’ve agreed and she should come visit you in a day or two to tell you everything in detail.”

Voldemort nodded.

“Well then, my cute assistants, I will take my leave now so you two lovebirds can continue to enjoy your honeymoon.” He sniggered at Ana’s embarrassed face, pressed his skeletal fingers to his exposed teeth and disappeared.

She yawned and stretched a bit, then hugged and snuggled into him.  

“How are you feeling?” she asked after a while, looking up at him.

“Much better.” His good arm was still holding her close to him.

“That’s good,” she smiled lovingly and pressed a kiss to his lips. “But are you going to be able to travel to London tomorrow and have that meeting with the Death Eaters?”

“Yes, and even if I weren’t in the best shape, the meeting and the broadcasting of the message are not going to take that much time and energy out of me.”

She nodded and tucked her head under his chin.

…

Much like the day before, Voldemort spent most of the day in bed, recovering, with Ana helping him and massaging him. That day in particular, Nagini also decided to join them and keep them company. They ate their meals in the bedroom, but went outside and took a short afternoon stroll around the perimeter of the mansion so Voldemort could stretch his limbs a bit.

They also spent most of the time outlining what they were going to say and do to convince the Order and the public into accepting him as the leader of magical Britain on parchment as to not forget anything.

In addition to that, they also discussed possible changes at Hogwarts once Voldemort assumed the post of Headmaster and DADA Professor.

They agreed that Binns had to go and that they would have to update and expand the number of staff, because one teacher handling all seven years for a subject seemed stressful, especially if you coupled that with lesson planning, correcting and grading home assignments, preparing and correcting exams.

The same was true for non-teaching posts like healer, caretaker and groundkeeper. Hogwarts was simply too big to only have one of each. There were house elves, of course, but they were primarily in charge of cooking, cleaning dorms, the castle and student clothes, and transporting student belongings. Adding any more chores to their list would be too much for them. Even now, it seemed to Ana that they worked too much, so they agreed that they would promote student autonomy by putting them in charge of keeping their dorms and clothes clean. They would also introduce cleaning duty for classrooms and corridors as part of that autonomy.

They also agreed that, to get an idea of what the students, the staff and the parents thought about education at Hogwarts, they would have them fill out questionnaires, which will be covered in compulsions to answer _all_ questions and Veritaserum. You never knew when people might overlook a question or skip it intentionally, either out of laziness or because they don’t want to answer specific questions. The same went for the nature of answers; some people might feel in the mood to exaggerate or be untruthful, and what would the point of questionnaires be if most of the answers were untrue.

While they were unanimous in their opinion about things up to that point, they weren’t as like-minded when it came to Hagrid. Voldemort wanted to sack him from the teaching post as well as the groundskeeper position and Ana didn’t want that, but after he explained his reasoning behind such a drastic decision, Ana agreed that it was probably for the best to let Hagrid do what he really wanted: handle dangerous magical creatures; and that simply wasn’t fit for a school environment.

Before they knew it, it got dark and, after arranging a carriage, they headed to bed for they had a very busy Monday ahead of them.

…

They arrived at the Ministry at around eleven o’clock without any sort of disguise and looked for Yaxley. Despite his surprise at seeing them together, he abstained from making any sort of comment and focussed on Voldemort’s instructions.

“Yaxley,” he said, “I want you to do two things for me.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“First, I need to record a message for WWN, which you will then deliver to them for broadcasting. After that, you will return to me, so I can summon the rest for a meeting, here at the Ministry.”

Yaxley nodded. “At once, my Lord,” he said, then, with a glance at Ana, he turned on his heel and guided them to his office, where Voldemort sat behind the desk with a furiously blushing Ana in his lap.

After Voldemort recorded his message for the radio and Yaxley left them alone, she let out a shaky breath, even when Voldemort’s hand rested on the small of her back, offering comfort.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered against her temple. “I won’t let anyone attack or disrespect you.”

“I know.” She smiled softly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anxious about the meeting. The last time I was surrounded by Death Eaters, I was walking to my death.”

He brought her closer to him and kissed her forehead. “This time it will be different,” he assured her and she nodded and snuggled into him. She even wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her head on his good shoulder.

They stayed like this until Yaxley returned, and even then, when Ana made the move to move away, Voldemort held onto her, causing her to blush again and look at her lap.

“The message was delivered, my Lord,” he reported and she could feel his eyes on her.

“Excellent. Then, step closer with your marked forearm exposed,” instructed Voldemort. He pulled out his wand, reached for Yaxley’s forearm and pressed it to the pitch-black mark.

In a matter of minutes, all marked followers gathered in the office, even Snape.

Voldemort surveyed his followers. “I’m sure you must be confused about a few things. First, you are probably wondering why we are here at the Ministry. Just minutes ago, Yaxley delivered a recorded message from me to the British wizarding population, which will be broadcasted shortly. If we are lucky, you will be able to hear it as well. The message itself is very clear, if a bit unexpected.” He turned to Yaxley. “Yaxley, turn on the WWN.”

“Yes, my Lord.” He turned on the radio.

“Dear listeners of WWN, we offer our sincerest apologies for the sudden interruption of our musical programme, but we bring you a very urgent and important message from none other than Lord Voldemort himself. In the following moments, you are going to listen the Dark Lord address the wizarding population of Britain.”

Voldemort’s smooth voice echoed through the speakers.

‘ _Witches and wizards of Great Britain, especially all those who oppose me._

_You may find this message strange and confusing, perhaps even deceitful, but the intentions and the message itself should be quite clear, if I may say so myself. I believe we can all agree that this conflict or war, whatever you want to call it, has been going on for far too long and it has become too violent, claiming lives and destroying magical and non-magical families on both sides. I admit to playing part in most of it and while I am sure you want me to atone, repent and apologise for my past actions, then rot in Azkaban or be publically executed, the truth is that it will not happen. Ever._

_The closest I will come to atoning for my actions is creating a sturdy, unified, and thriving magical society. A society where magic is celebrated not classified, prohibited, and shunned. A society where all those with magical blood can live in safety and peace. However, such a feat cannot be achieved if there is war and strong dissent. For that reason, I am urging every single one of you to stop the fight, especially those who form part of the Order that Dumbledore created to fight and oppose me._

_I am well aware that most of you who are listening to this message would rather die or kill me than to see me ever become the leader of Britain’s magical community, but I am afraid that you will simply have to get used to the idea, because no matter what, I intend to remain in charge. I intend to keep the reigns in my hands. However, I am offering a chance to end the war, so this bloodshed and torture can end. A chance to end it peacefully and re-build our society; let it heal._

_I am offering everyone in the Order an opportunity to approach me and negotiate the terms of truce. You are welcome to think about my offer and formulate a reply. You have one week to communicate your answer. If you will not reply to my offer, I will take your silence as a declination to cease all conflict and as such your intent to continue this war._

_During the week, my forces will cease all violent acts, but they will continue their bureaucratic obligations uninterruptedly. Should any of my forces come under attack during the weeklong ceasefire, they can retaliate back with force in an act of self-defence. I expect something like this will not be necessary._

_You can contact me through my followers currently employed at the Ministry. The public and the journalists will be able to ask me questions about my vision and plans for the future at the press conference, which will happen this Wednesday at two o’clock in the afternoon in the Ministry atrium. Again, this is your opportunity to inform yourselves in a peaceful and cordial manner. In case of violence, the security at the conference can and will counter it with varying degrees of force, depending on the gravity of violent acts._

_I know it is difficult not to hate me, but if we are to build a society, in which our magical race can prosper, you will have to set your displeasure, hurt and hatred aside and focus on the bright future for British wizardkind with me as your leader._

_That is all._ ’

The message ended and Yaxley turned off the radio. Voldemort looked at his gathered followers and addressed them again.

“It is as you’ve heard,” he announced. “You and all the lesser rank Death Eaters and Snatchers are to stop the persecution of muggleborns, muggles and those who oppose us in an effort to put an end to the war officially and as much in our favour as possible. If the Order is smart, they will take this opportunity I am offering and work out a list of things they want me to take into consideration and abide by for them to desist any rebellious activities, because we _will_ have to accept and fulfil some of their demands for them to accept and fulfil ours.”

He saw them tense up.

“I know that this is unexpected for you, and that some, if not all, of you may disagree with what I’ve said in the recording and here so far, but for wizardkind to survive here in Britain we have to preserve magical blood in whichever form possible and available … even half-bloods, mudbloods and squibs. Because as much as we might think them impure, they still have magic and magical blood in them, therefore they are necessary and valuable for the continuation of our kind in this country. Inbreeding, something that has been happening in our community for a while now, is counterproductive, because it can have detrimental effects on future generations.”

Rodolphus Lestrange raised his hand.

“Yes, Rodolphus?”

“What kind of detrimental effects?”

“I cannot say with certainty, because we would need research on the subject, but I can tell you that there is some kind of correlation between mental illnesses, reduced fertility, high-risk pregnancies, higher chance of spontaneous abortions, higher chance of stillbirths and infant deaths, physical deformities, squibs, and inbreeding.”

Death Eaters gawked at him, horrified. The only one keeping his composure was Snape.

“If research confirms my suspicions, I believe we can all agree that, in order to preserve our kind, we must mate and breed with half-bloods, muggleborns, squibs, even magical creatures and … muggles.”

Ana looked at the terror on the Death Eaters’ faces and she couldn’t decide whether hearing all the possible health complications due to incest their offspring could experience or reproducing with muggles sounded worse to them.

They nodded reluctantly.

“To summarise, we are going to stop all violence for a week and wait to see how the negotiations with the Order and the press conference go. If the negotiations for a peaceful resolution of conflict go well, we will immediately stop the persecution of muggleborns and muggles, mainly to garner public support, but also to ensure that our magical race can thrive without being affected by complications that come with incest.”

He looked at Snape. “Severus, you will help convince them into accepting my offer, because prolonging this war and causing more magical deaths is going to severely impact the British wizarding population and we don’t want that to happen.”

“My Lord, the Order knows of my affiliation with you and I am not sure they will welcome my presence with open arms.”

“You’re a smart man, Severus, and a _very_ good actor,” he commented with narrowed eyes and a sharp look. “You were even able to deceive Dumbledore so you can come up with something believable for the Order.” He wanted to say that he was able to deceive even him, but that would be telling too much too soon.

Snape nodded and lowered his gaze. “Yes, my Lord.”

Voldemort returned his gaze to the rest. “If the Order and the public show hostility and resort to violence, then you can strike back at them.” His gaze hardened. “However, do not abuse the self-defence clause. I will know if you’ve acted out of line and I won’t be pleased if you ruin this opportunity for us to seize and maintain control over your inability to control your hatred and aggression. Is that clear?”

A chorus of ‘Yes, my Lord’ echoed in the office.

“Your presence will be required at the conference on Wednesday and at the Order meeting, whenever that will be. Any further details about our new regime will probably be brought up at both occasions so this will be a good opportunity for you to learn more about the changes I intend to implement after the end of the war. Any urgent questions?”

Bellatrix raised her hand.

“Yes, Bellatrix?”

“What about _her_?” She referred to Ana. “What is _she_ doing here?”

Ana tensed and swallowed dry, but Voldemort kept a possessive grip on her waist. “Ana,” he began, “is my wife.”

The statement caused a wave of shock and disbelief, even in Snape.

“What?!” shrieked Bella. “Why?! How!? When?!”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Bellatrix,” said Voldemort in a low, dangerous voice. The woman immediately lowered her head in a submissive manner. “As for the answers to your questions: Ana Potter and I met up on the morning of the third of August,” he traced the side of her face and her chin with the back of his fingers, something that prompted Ana to look in his eyes and lean into his touch. “We conversed quite a bit and agreed that we will stop attacking each other. Instead, we decided that we will work together and this translated into marriage. We got married last week on Thursday at Gringotts.” He encompassed them with a look. “Anything else?”

There was silence. “Good. If at any point you have doubts or questions, I believe that most will be answered during the week and if not, you can address your questions to me, either in person or through post. For now, that will be all. You are free to leave.”

As the Death Eaters began to leave the office, Ana left Voldemort’s lap and ran after Snape to talk to him.

“Professor Snape,” she called after him. “Professor Snape, could I have a moment, please?”

The man stopped. He turned, tall and proud, with a blank mask over his face. “Yes?” he drawled.

She wrung her hands and struggled to maintain eye contact with him. “I wanted to apologise for the words I said to you over a month ago. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I know now that I was wrong in my judgement of you and your character. I know now that you aren’t a coward and that you cast that killing curse at Professor Dumbledore, because he asked you, not because you wanted to do it.”

The blank, impenetrable mask cracked as Snape’s eyes widened and his complexion paled.

“I would also like to thank you for all the times you protected me and saved me, even though you dislike me, because I remind you of my father. I know that you did it out of obligation, duty, and love for my mother, but I probably wouldn’t be standing here right now if it weren’t for you looking after me from the shadows.”

“How do you know that?” he forced through his teeth.

Remembering that Snape was well versed in legilimency, she didn’t dare meet his intense gaze for fear that he would see the truth in her mind.

“I cannot tell you, just know that I am aware of the reasons and circumstances behind certain things and that I don’t hate or blame you for the things that happened in the past.” She swallowed hard and cleared her throat to continue. “I am also aware of my … true nature. That … I was destined to die in order to make Voldemort mortal once more … that I am … a horcrux.”

Snape stared at her, frozen. “You know,” he breathed. She nodded. “Since when? Who told you?”

She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. “I’ve known for a little over a week or so,” she said. “As for who told me … I cannot tell you. I’m sorry.”

He continued to look at her, unable to comprehend. “Does … your husband know?” he inquired.

“Yes, he knows. He knows that I carry a part of him inside me.”

Suddenly, Snape looked like he had a revelation. “Is this why you suddenly approached the Dark Lord? Is this why you have agreed to such madness?” He huffed derisively. “Of course it is; what else would it be. Do you even realise what you have done?” he snarled, wild-eyed, grabbing her upper arms.

She finally looked at him, wide-eyed. “I have done nothing wrong.”

“No,” he scoffed, “you simply agreed to spend the rest of your life with the very man who killed your parents, and plenty of others, and who until recently was determined to kill you.”

“So, according to you, I should have been willing and ready to die?” she asked, hurt, her emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Because that is what it sounds like.”

Snape looked as if the words burnt him. He let go of her. “No,” he whispered, “of course not, but you didn’t have to go so far as to marry the Dark Lord to save yourself.”

“Why do you talk as if marrying Voldemort was the worst mistake of my life when that couldn’t be further from the truth? For all you know, he might be a great husband and father when we have children.”

At the mention of her having Voldemort’s children, Snape looked ready to faint.

“The same goes for him as the leader of magical Britain,” she continued in her husband’s defence. “How will you know how he is as a ruler if you don’t give him a chance to prove that he isn’t just a monster who tortures and kills?”

Snape shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re defending him and advocating for him. You, of all people.” He was looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

“Please, Professor,” she pleaded. “It really isn’t as bad as it seems.”

He heaved a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. “For all of our sakes, I sincerely hope you are right, because otherwise you might have just doomed the entire wizarding population of Great Britain. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to contact the Order, convince them I am not the traitor they think I am and talk them into agreeing with this madness as well.”

With that, he left.

…

‘ _You’re a hypocrite, Severus_ ,’ he admonished himself. ‘ _With what right do you reproach her for marrying a man such as Voldemort when you yourself have involved yourself romantically with Sirius Black?_ ’

It’s not as if he planned to develop a relationship with him, not with the history of hate and violence between them, but it happened and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, no matter how many times he told himself that their relationship couldn’t last or end in happiness.

He still remembered their times together and the unconventional way they got together.

It started in Hogwarts, their sixth year to be specific, with him befriending a stray black dog on Hogwarts grounds, and continued in the form of a clandestine affair between him and a masked man, who called himself Grim, until the end of the first wizarding war with Voldemort and Sirius’ imprisonment.

For over a decade, he didn’t know that the dog and the masked man were the same person, much less that it was Sirius Black. Sirius always made sure that, whenever they were meeting, he spoke in a deep, hoarse manly voice and that he could never see his face. It wasn’t until the masked man suddenly disappeared without a single message or warning and suddenly resurfaced during Ana’s third year, coinciding with the times of Sirius’ arrest and escape, that he figured out his true identity and he was furious.

He was livid with Black for deceiving him for years, for daring to pursue him under disguise and not having his usual Marauder guts to tell him he wanted him to his face. He was angry with himself for being naïve and stupid enough to agree to a romantic relationship with a stranger, who wasn’t a stranger at all, but someone who he knew well and hated with a passion, but also learnt to desire, want and love with the same intensity.

At first, he was adamant not to rekindle the relationship he had with Sirius as the masked man, mostly out of his hurt pride, but Sirius was persistent and even dared kidnap him to a remote cottage warded with anti-apparition and anti-magic wards during summer before Ana’s fourth year, where not even the Order could find them. After a week of nothing but Sirius for company and his relentless attempts of seduction, he succumbed and returned to being Sirius’ lover, this time without masks and secret identities.

Unfortunately, their relationship came to another abrupt end, this time a permanent one, because Sirius was dead and a piece of Severus died together with him that damned day in June last year.

Even after a year, Black’s death still hurt and the only regret he had was that he didn’t do as much as he could have to prevent him from dying. If only he would have put him under an enchanted sleep so the reckless fool wouldn’t go to the Ministry to Ana’s aid. If only he had been there to prevent his fall through the veil. He could have used Sirius’ disguise to mask his face to fight alongside him, but instead … he listened to Dumbledore and let his role as a spy take precedence over his instinct and feelings.

Ever since then, he shut down emotionally and he didn’t care all that much about his own well-being. He was prepared and willing to die in the war after revealing everything to Ana, so he could meet up with Sirius in the afterlife, but the girl had to go and ruin that by marrying the Dark Lord. Sometimes he wondered whether her recklessness and pig-headedness came from Potter or Sirius, probably both.

He sighed and looked at the ceiling of his home. “Lily, I can’t with your daughter. I know I promised to protect her until the time to end the Dark Lord came, but when she does stupid things like this, I swear I want to strangle her.” His voice was filled with frustration.

Ana’s words about Voldemort echoed in his mind. She sounded so convinced that the Dark Lord wasn’t a hopeless and incorrigible case, that he could create a prosperous, safe and happy society, that he could be a good husband and father, if only given the chance, that Severus found it difficult to sneer and dismiss it as a complete and utter delusion of a teenage girl.

He finished the glass of fire whiskey, and then reached for a piece of parchment to contact Lupin. He seemed like a reasonable person who would listen and believe him when he told him the truth behind his actions over a month ago. Perhaps the only person in the Order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might write a fic with Sirius and Severus' relationship in this universe, detailing how exactly everything transpired between them. Unfortunately, I don't know when that would be and sadly that fic would end in tragedy due to Sirius' death, but there would be enough sexy and happy times to compensate for it. 😅


	11. Press Conference & Order Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: In the time since I last updated, I got a full-time job which means that I don't have as much free time as I used to have and I won't be able to update more than once a month. 
> 
> Next update will be on 28 October 2019
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! 😇

“How did it go?” Voldemort circled Ana’s waist and brought her closer to him.

“Not as bad as I thought,” she said, caressing his shoulder, “but since I couldn’t tell him anything about … you-know-what, he was very on edge and suspicious when I thanked him for protecting me all these years and that I know he isn’t the traitor everyone believes him to be. He also seems convinced that I’ve doomed humanity by marrying you.” She let out a heavy sigh.

Voldemort smirked. “What do I care what Snape thinks about our marriage,” he whispered into her ear. “As long as you don’t regret it, I couldn’t care less about the opinion of others.”

A shy smile spread over her lips as a subtle blush settled across her cheeks. “I don’t regret it,” she assured him, snuggling into him, and his grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly. “How are you feeling? Do you need rest? Should we go?”

He sighed tiredly. “I wouldn’t mind it, but we still have to buy the protection items before going back.” She nodded. “However, I did everything I had planned here at the Ministry for now, so we can leave.”

“Then let’s go,” she suggested, “so we can return home as soon as possible and you can lay down and take a nap.”

“While you give me a massage,” he smirked devilishly, making her giggle.

“Why of course, your majesty,” she teased him.

He pulled her flush against him and caught her lips with his.

…

After the radio transmission with Voldemort’s message ended, silence settled among the gathered members of the Order.

“Do you think the message is genuine?” asked Arthur, who broke the silence that reigned in the room. “Do you think he’ll really stop the violence and his reign of terror?”

He looked at the others.

“While it certainly seems genuine,” said Kingsley, “it remains to be seen if he will keep his word.”

“As if a monster like him could ever actually do something good for the world,” scoffed Molly. “Just because he’s offering a peace branch, doesn’t change the fact that he’s a monster with blood on his hands, or have you already forgotten all the death and pain he and his followers caused in the past and in the last year?”

“And if we don’t take this opportunity to negotiate and stop the war, more people will die,” reasoned Remus.

“But at what price?” argued Tonks. “By surrendering our freedom and will to him?”

“If we play our cards right, we can have him sign a magically binding contract where we can have him agree to most of our terms,” said Remus.

“With him in charge,” concluded Molly, “because he will not step down from his position as the leader.”

“We will just have to compromise then,” said Kingsley. “And with the contract in place, we can force him to abide by his word. We simply need to compile our demands and agree on them together. We have a week to give the man our answer, but let us try not to wait until the very last second.”

“Do you think Dumbledore would have negotiated and compromised with someone like him?” demanded Minerva. “After causing so much pain and destruction?”

“If it meant that by doing so would prevent the deaths of many, then I truly believe that he would have negotiated with him,” said Kingsley in a harsh tone. “Everything for the greater good and assuring the survival of the masses, even if it means letting the enemy rule after having accepting our demands and ensuring that he keeps his word.”

He looked at the younger members of the Order: Bill and his wife, the twins, Tonks, Ron and Hermione. The latter two looked slightly uncomfortable. “I hope you’ve all seen enough of the war for you not to be foolish enough to entertain continuing with the fighting, because you never know when you might die and you’re all too young with an entire life ahead of you for you to let it waste away on a battlefield.”

He addressed Bill and Fleur. “You just got married. You should be celebrating your honeymoon, not attending these Order meetings, for Merlin’s sake. And you,” he turned to the twins, “you have a shop to run, money to earn, products to invent and sell.” He turned to Ron and Hermione. “And you two, you should be going to school in less than a month or were you thinking of skipping your last year of Hogwarts.” They lowered their gazes in shame. “The same goes for Potter,” he added. “She shouldn’t be fighting if she doesn’t have to.”

Ron and Hermione briefly exchanged looks. If only the Order knew that Ana had gone and married the Dark Lord that had been after her life for ages, they would probably have gone ballistic. Especially, if they learnt that they witnessed the ceremony and even helped by tying their hands together … so they kept their mouths shut and were resolved to wait until there was no danger and people found out about the marriage between Voldemort and Ana on their own.

…

As Remus was getting ready for bed, an owl came carrying a note for him.

‘ _Who would be sending me notes at this hour?_ ’ he wondered and as soon as he saw the handwriting, he immediately knew it was Severus. Why would he send him a note?

_Lupin,_

_I know you probably think I am a traitor and the worst human being on Earth for killing Dumbledore, but there is a perfectly credible and logical explanation behind my actions at the end of June. All I need is for you to listen._

_SS_

Remus let out a sigh. As much as he loved the man, he didn’t know what to think of him and his actions anymore, but if there was anything he knew for certain is that, despite his closed, guarded and resentful personality, he was loyal to a fault to those he cared about, whether they deserved it, like Ana, or not … like Sirius.

Although, to be fair, after Azkaban, Sirius pulled himself together and became a better person … that didn’t mean that Remus didn’t feel bothered seeing them together or knowing that, whenever they disappeared to someplace private, they were most likely making love to one another and it ate at him from within.

He did his best to mask it, but he could feel his inner wolf growling just beneath his skin, eager to rip Sirius to shreds, every time he could smell him on Severus. To think he once had a crush on him, and he felt jealous of Severus for having his friend’s attention all to himself at school, but after Sirius sent Severus down that damned tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, all romantic feelings he harboured for Sirius evaporated.

His feelings for Severus didn’t develop until later on, when they became colleagues and Severus was preparing Wolfsbane Potion for him. It hurt when Severus outed his secret, but it didn’t really affect his feelings for him, and whilst not being able to get a job was hard on him, seeing Severus with Sirius proved to be even more painful than anything he could have ever imagined.

When Sirius died, it was a shock and it was painful at first, mostly because it was hard to see Ana go through the pain, but also seeing Severus close himself off completely and not care about anything anymore. However, he couldn’t help but feel relief because, with Sirius gone, he could finally try and gain Severus’ affections.

He proved unsuccessful for the past year or so, but now he could use this opportunity to get closer to him, maybe confess to him and hope for the best.

He wrote him back, telling him to meet him at a restaurant so they could talk at ease about Severus’ reasons behind Dumbledore’s murder.

…

As Wednesday neared, Ana dreaded it with all her might.

Partly due to what the Order could do at such a public event and partly because the entire wizarding world would learn of her marriage to Voldemort, because he wanted her to stand next to him during the entire press conference, and how could she refuse her husband when she vowed to stand by him no matter the circumstances.

At least he tried to comfort her by providing her with a relaxing scalp massage in the carriage and talks of didactic games and his vision for Dark Arts syllabus, which sounded intriguing and something worth giving a try.

Unfortunately, as soon as the press conference started and she found herself standing on the dais by Voldemort’s side in front of the reporters and curious civilians, she was internally panicking all over again.

When the crowd flooded them with questions in regards to their joint appearance and sudden marriage, Voldemort took care of answering them by providing the most basic information about the circumstances that led to their marriage then graciously moved onto other questions that were mainly concerned with the veracity of his radio transmission and his intentions as the ruler.

With Voldemort answering all the questions, she had enough time to observe the crowd and she could see her best friends accompanied by the Order at the back of the Atrium. From the distance, it didn’t seem to her that they intended to do anything violent, mostly because they were still in shock after learning of her marriage to Voldemort, but also because she assumed they wanted to hear what her husband would say to the press about his plans for the future.

Her husband’s followers, on the other hand, were stationed all around the Atrium and a group of marked Death Eaters with Severus at the front were protecting them from any violent outbursts.

Luckily, nothing awful happened and the conference ended relatively quickly and the Snatchers and lesser-ranked Death Eaters escorted the crowd outside. Everyone except the Order, they were welcomed to stay behind and join them in the Minister’s office to discuss their decision in regards to his offer, was asked to leave the Ministry.

“Thank you for the invitation,” said Kingsley, “but I’m afraid we’ll have to pass on it for now, because it wouldn’t be very productive since we don’t have anything ready for negotiation yet, however, we accept your offer about reaching an agreement that would benefit both sides of the conflict without unnecessary violence.”

“As you wish,” returned Voldemort politely, keeping Ana close. “You still have some time to decide on what you want from me, because I already know what I want from you and what I am willing to offer you to make you comply.”

“We should have everything ready by Friday,” said Kingsley.

“Then, if you agree, let’s meet on Friday at two o’clock in the afternoon at Gringotts to finalise our agreement,” he proposed.

The Order members exchanged looks. “Agreed,” said Kingsley. “We will have everything ready by then.”

“Excellent,” smirked Voldemort. “Then, you are free to go, while my wife and I have other business to take care of.”

She curtsied awkwardly, then excused herself, timidly and briefly greeted her friends and followed her husband. When they were alone, she exhaled profoundly.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he teased.

“I’m just glad this is over and that you were in charge of answering questions.”

He chuckled as he helped her into the carriage.

“Will I have to escort you on Friday as well?” she asked miserably.

“No, you won’t have to,” he kissed her hair as a gentle smile spread across his lips. “I will report the outcome when I return home.”

Her hand flew to her chest and she sighed in relief. “I’ll keep Nagini, Phobos and Marvolo company,” she said, “and they will keep me company in turn while you’re gone. Maybe I’ll cook something.” She looked at him. “Is there anything that you would like me to bake?”

“A cake would be nice.”

“What kind?”

“Chocolate and caramel cake.”

Ana laughed heartily. “Chocolate caramel it is then,” she grinned and snuggled into his side.

…

“Would have appreciated a warning,” whispered Remus to Severus, taking a sip from his drink. “That way I wouldn’t have almost fallen over when Voldemort announced that Ana was his wife now.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t,” drawled Severus. “If there’s one thing I was hoping would happen and was looking forward to seeing is you and the entire Order fainting at the news.”

Remus smirked and chuckled into his drink. “I still don’t understand how everything transpired.”

“And I suppose we won’t know it, since both Potter and the Dark Lord are adamant to keep the circumstances and reasons behind their marriage vague,” concluded Severus.

“Well, if they are happy, I suppose it’s not that bad,” shrugged Remus.

Severus stared blankly at him. “Are you mental? There is nothing good about that marriage,” he snarled. “It’s doomed to fail, they are too different and they have a history of violence and hatred, one conversation couldn’t have changed it.”

Remus sent a steady and level look Severus’ way. “Are you against it because you’re speaking from experience?”

Severus’ eyes widened.

“Are you talking about yourself and Sirius?”

Severus’ eyes and expression darkened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Black and I were never together as a couple.”

“Are you sure about that?” he pressed, even though his stomach churned remembering that particular period. “Because you might have fooled everyone else, but not me and my werewolf nose. You think I wasn’t able to smell you two together when you were having sex behind silencing charms. You both reeked of each other and sex every fucking time.” Remus’ own expression and voice hardened.

Severus went rigid, and even though Remus’ eyes gleamed amber, he refused to show any fear. “My personal life doesn’t concern you, wolf,” he snarled, ready to leave, but Remus caught his arm and forced him to stay.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he demanded. “And yes, perhaps your personal life doesn’t concern me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about it.”

“I didn’t know you had a fetish that concerns other people’s sex lives.”

“Only when it comes to yours.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling about what Lupin was saying and where he was going with it, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was done with relationships. He had one with someone as dramatic and exhausting as Sirius and he wasn’t ready for another Marauder to come and mess him up.

He couldn’t do it to Sirius … not when they talked about only being with one another, and just because Sirius was dead didn’t mean he would replace him at the first opportunity. If he wasn’t able to get over him when they were in their early twenties, he wouldn’t be able to get over him in a year in his late thirties.

“Look, Lupin,” he said, “if you’re implying what I think you’re trying to imply, then my advice to you would be to stop the folly you’re entertaining, because nothing will ever come out of it.”

“I know you still have feelings for Sirius; that you’ve had them for decades if you couldn’t even notice my somewhat clumsy and lacklustre attempts at trying to win your affections three years ago, when I was teaching at Hogwarts. I’m not trying to replace Sirius in your life. I don’t want to be second place or a replacement for anyone, I want an equal standing as Sirius had in your life when you two were together. Because Sirius was Sirius and I am me.”

Severus studied him. “Too bad I’m not looking for a relationship, wolf.”

“I didn’t expect you to agree to one after I confessed,” admitted Remus. “We could start as friends and then, we’ll see what happens.”

Severus grimaced. “Just don’t get your hopes up,” he warned. “I won't be held responsible for any disappointment or heartbreak you may experience by the end of this charade you want to play.”

“Why are you so sure it’s a charade that will end in heartbreak for me?” smirked Remus. “For all you know, you could fall in love with me and let me become your lover and more.”

Sirius continued to scowl at him, and didn’t deign his question with a reply.

“Anyway,” Remus changed the subject, “we’ve strayed from the purpose of our meeting, which was you telling me the reasons behind Dumbledore’s death.”

“Since Kingsley was clear in that the Order intends to negotiate with the Dark Lord, it doesn’t really matter anymore,” he said, trying to leave as soon as possible, but again Remus stopped him.

“Don’t go, Severus.”

“It’s Snape to you.”

“Snape,” he conceded, “I want to know, even if the reason you wanted to tell me has already been taken care of.”

Severus looked at him suspiciously, but decided to humour him regardless. “Alright. If you insist. I killed Dumbledore because he asked me to do it.”

Remus’ eyes widened. “What?” he whispered. “Why would he ask you to do such a thing?”

“Because he was already dying,” deadpanned Severus. “He got cursed during summer last year and the curse would have eventually killed him slowly and painfully. I simply sped up the process and made it less painful.”

“Why didn’t either of you tell that to the rest?”

“Because then the reactions of everybody wouldn’t have been as genuine and visceral as they were … especially Potter’s. With how open and vulnerable she is to the Dark Lord’s mind attacks then he would have known I’m not really on his side.” He sighed. “But now, that doesn’t even matter, because the Potter girl went and married him to establish peace and to pursue some misconstrued idea of eternal and true love with a Byronic hero.”

Remus snorted. “Such a pessimist and I can’t believe you compared Voldemort to a Byronic hero.”

“I’m a realist and I don’t think he necessarily possesses Byronic qualities, only that Ana Potter seems convinced of that by how she talks about him.”

Remus shook his head in amusement. “Well, as long as he treats her with respect and gives her what she wants in a partner I don’t see any problems with their marriage.”

Severus couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

…

On Friday, Voldemort arrived at Gringotts fifteen minutes earlier, accompanied by his inner circle and with the draft of the contract in hand. Then he looked for the goblin that had conducted the bonding ritual between him and Ana to oversee the signing of the contract with the Order as well.

While they waited for the Order members to appear, he reminded his followers not to attack unless attacked and to refrain from making any inappropriate remarks that might seem like provocation to the Order.

When they arrived, he greeted them with as much civility as he could muster and then proceeded with the meeting, because he wanted to return home to Ana and eat her baking.

Each side briefly presented their demands.

Voldemort wanted the Order to accept him as the new leader, a guarantee of no violence against him, his wife and his followers and no rebellious activities against him and he will leave them be.

“I’m not asking much, am I?” he prompted, smirking devilishly. “I will let you live your lives undisturbed as long as you don’t get in my way of ruling or try to attack me. You won’t have to worry about losing your jobs or your freedom; I won’t even torture you, but only if you agree to halt any rebellious activities against me immediately.”

“That is it?” asked Kingsley. “That is all you want from us?”

“Would you have liked it if I demanded more?” he asked back. Silence. “I thought so, and either way, most of you will work for me at the Ministry so there will be more things I will ask of you as your boss, but for now, I believe this is more than enough.” He encompassed them with his look. “Any objections?”

They consulted each other in whispers and in a tight circle. “No objections,” reported Kingsley.

“Now let’s hear your demands.” He leaned back in his seat.

“There aren’t many either,” he assured him. “Essentially, we will accept you as the leader of magical Britain if you hold onto your word not to persecute and discriminate against us, magical creatures or those you deem lesser human beings, and if you don’t suddenly start a reign of terror where no one will be able to say anything against you without suffering gruesome consequences.”

“Well … there’s a difference between having an opposing point of view and opinion and working actively against me trying to get rid of me or harass me verbally,” said Voldemort shrewdly. “As long as the people who aren’t thrilled with me remain in the first group and don’t transition into the second one, I will tolerate them and refrain from acting against them no matter how much I might want to torture some of them into oblivion.” He was grinning.

“Fair enough,” agreed Kingsley.

“But I understand what you are trying to say,” said Voldemort. “You want some sort of democracy in place so that I’m not the only one making decisions for everyone else, and for me to stay true to my promise to make our society better. I can’t promise democracy on all fronts, because there are certain areas that people don’t know what they want or what’s best for them, but there will be some legislation decisions that will be decided by the public. Will that be enough?”

The Order discussed it among themselves again; this time it took them a bit longer to decide and they were louder than before, mostly the women. After a few minutes, they reached an understanding and then Kingsley reported their decision to Voldemort. They agreed with him.

Voldemort smirked, satisfied. “Excellent! Then let us combine everything into one document and sign it so we can finally put an end to the war.”

Less than half an hour later, the war officially ended and Voldemort became the leader of magical Britain.


End file.
